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ᝨℍℰ newsroom was not as noisy as it usually was that morning. No one had the time to talk or gist about their roving the previous day, about politics, fashion, family or their job. However, it was still a mad room.
The reporters were all busy putting their reports in order before they would submit them to me. I gave them an ultimatum for all their reports to be on my desk before 9:20 AM. Most of them were head bent over pieces of paper inking vigorously, some others crowded the limited typists placating with whispers and lobbying to add their news reports to the days bulletin, while a few others where in the editing room merging their voice overs with rushes.
The morning news was usually aired by 10:00AM, although a good number of the reporters had arrived the office late because the company's coastal bus that brought them to the office broke down along the road that morning because of a bad spark plug. The driver had already received heavy tongue-lashing from Sir. Lamido for not taking the proper precautions a professional driver working for a media house as big as PTV was expected to do. The reporters were fully aware that the tongue-lashing the poor driver had received from the Head of Station would be nothing compared to what the crazy lusty old man would say or do to them, should I report any of them to him for being incompetent of doing their job.
Sir. Lamido was as tough as old boots when it comes to official duty. He believed he was never found wanting handling his job as the station's head, therefore, all these young journos must be up and doing, else, he'd fire them before the blink of an eye, parting them with words like: ' There are a thousand job seeking graduate seriously hungry to become a journo and all you do is make a mess of it. You've been served!' He'd push an envelope containing a sack letter before the staff and give an icy fuck off look.
One of the reporters dashed into My office with his report. 'Good morning Fred.' He placed his report before me.
'Good morning Mr. Nelson. ' I scanned through the paper. ' Twaddle! Absolute Twaddle!'
'Sir?'
'Stop giving me that face, Mr. Nelson, you and I know that this is paid news.'
'Fred, Fred. You too smart.' He said with a fickle smile.
I did not rise to the bait of his flatter. I hesitated. I wanted him to elaborate, so I leaned back on my chair and watched him with my head bent sideways. Without a smile.
'Hum...' he put his lips in his mouth and stared around.' See, boss. This news, must try... No. Please I need you to help me make sure it gets on air. You know it's the deputy governor we're talking about here o. Abeg?'
I laughed. I rolled my chair closer to my desk and started typing an article I was going to send to The Vanguard newspaper the next week. 'How much did they pay?' I asked, pretending to show some interest.
'Fifty-k.'
'Fifty-k? For this news? And you stoop so low to collect such chicken change, hope you didn't tell them you're a journalist with PTV?'
