Haole Wood Read Online Free

Union Tribune and now our station is the laughing stock of the city. Are you a complete moron?”
    “Oh, Fred, I’m so sorry. You see, I—”
    “You what?” I could feel his rage through the phone as my stomach cramped up, just like it did before I went on the air. He wasn’t finished. “I don’t know how Barry could have produced such a train wreck. I’ll get to him next. We led with the weather, ‘Batten down the hatches, it’s pouring in San Diego’ and ten minutes later there you are, all Polly Perky, ‘Did you enjoy all the sunshine today?’”
    “Sir, I am so sorry. I can explain. I had an emergency—”
    “I could give a rat’s ass about your emergency. This is the news business, and I’m afraid you are yesterday’s news.”
    “I’ll come in on my days off and work.” My mind scrambled. I couldn’t get back there until tomorrow even though I wasn’t scheduled to work until Wednesday. “I’ll do anything. I’ll make it up to you, you’ll see. I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
    “Exactly. You never have any idea, do you? We may not have much to talk about in terms of weather in San Diego, but guess what? We all talk about it, all the time. You are no longer credible or believable and a reporter’s reputation is key. I don’t want to see your face back here again. You are terminated. Save yourself some embarrassment and don’t even think about trying for a job at any of the other stations in town, even the cable channels, because it’s not going to happen.”
    “Please. Fred, won’t you let me explain?”
    “I don’t care if you have a brain tumor or split personality, one that was frolicking in the sunshine yesterday when you did your weather report, there is no excuse. You cannot go on the air and make a mistake like that.”
    “Well, now that’s just mean,” I said, sitting up in my bed. “It was an honest mistake, if you’d just listen to me. It’s not like I killed anybody.”
    “So now you’re telling me the news business? It is a big deal, young lady.” He took a breath and I could hear his blood pressure rise.
    “Listen, I am so sorry. My grandmother was in trouble and needed me. She was in jail and I had to bail her out—”
    “Sorry for your troubles, Jaswinder, but I’m afraid it’s not going to work out. You acted unprofessionally and you betrayed your public. You lied to them. In essence, you lied to us. You made the station look bad, you made the network look bad. I’ll have HR send you your final check.” He paused for a split second, and then, as if it killed him to do so, wished me well. “Good luck.” I heard him hang up on me.
    “Shit, shit, shit.” I hugged my knees to my chest and rocked back and forth. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I said goodbye to my dream job. I could never quite believe my luck in actually being on the air in San Diego, one of the top television markets.
    I worked so hard to try to break into the industry. When I was younger, in the bedroom I shared with my sister, I used to practice broadcasting in the mirror. I used my chartreuse hairbrush as a microphone, its black bristles scraping my lips. “Josephine Park, age 14, died in a tragic bicycle accident today.” I used to pretend I was swiping her blood off the wall as I did my report. “Her much prettier sister, Jaswinder, was nowhere near the scene.” Of course, Josephine would run and tattle on me.
    Maybe it was all that practicing, maybe it was blind dumb luck, or maybe just a good guardian angel after all, but after paying my dues interning at a local TV station in Columbus, Ohio, I finally broke into television news as an associate producer. In spite of the main anchorman, Stephen Zaputa, (whom everyone knew was having a secret affair with the morning news girl, Lupita Sanchez, which would have made her Lupita Zaputa should they ever marry) (which they did not) who once screamed at me, “I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever know,” I persevered.
    One day,