Key Demographic

    Roger couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed television, only that at some point in the past, he had.  His shows were once important enough to him that he would watch them at their actual air time.   He would only DVR them for the sake of repeat viewing.  
     He had viewing parties for the Seinfeld finale and the relaunch of Battlestar Galactica.  He briefly curated a blog dedicated to 1980's cartoons.  He could not recall when that relationship waned, then, died entirely.  
     But it had.  
     Just like every other pass-time in America, corporations found a way to replace the heart of television with big data and analytics.  This led to networks not only making bland, middle-of-the-road programming without any point of view, but literally turning television viewership into a job.  And Roger was late clocking in.
     He just couldn't bring himself to do it today.  It was his son Matt's eighth birthday but what did a kid growing up in the data age have to look forward to?  As everything on earth continued to be monetized, monitored, and automated, true connections... true experience seemed like an anachronism.  The only consolation was that at eight, Matt could enjoy TV the way it was meant to be watched: no quotas, no boss, and no stress.
     Mentally fatigued before his workday even began, Roger broke from normal routine and went out for the morning to get some fresh air.  He hadn't done this in some time.  He left the house plenty: to go to the store, visit family or friends, or to run errands, but he rarely went outside just for the sake of it.  
     He took a walk in the park near their house and tried to not think about his looming shift.  He called his wife, Karen.  He reveled in the surprise in her voice when he told her he was out and suggested meeting for lunch.  
     They spent the time at lunch chatting through the final details of Matt's birthday party.  The party would happen in their back yard, but Roger wouldn't attend most of it as he had to work his regular shift: weeknight prime-time.  The highest paying shift, but on a third tier network, so he wasn't making the big money.
     Missing his son's birthday to work a shift making less money than he'd like made Roger truly consider no-showing work altogether.  After getting home from lunch, Roger sat down on the couch in the buttocks-shaped trough he'd worn in from thousands of hours of work.  Facing the television, he got sick to his stomach at the thought of watching one more sloppy characterization or one more poorly executed commercial.  He sat on the couch and enjoyed the silence of the living room not yet molested.
     No-showing be damned, he should quit.  Work an eight to five job and throw out his TV and read books for leisure.  The fantasy was short-lived as such fantasies always are.  He couldn't afford to quit outright.  He needed to find another job before he could even think about putting in his notice.  Besides, publishers would be following television's model soon enough, paying readers for their attention.  In the same way bowling alleys would eventually pay players and resorts would pay guests then charge advertisers for the captive audience.  The days of true leisure were over.
     He looked at the clock and saw he was more than a quarter-hour late.  He knew that by now his boss, Sally Edleson, would be pissed regardless of whether he signed in now or not; so he decided to enjoy the silence as long as possible before she called.
     His phone rang.  
     On the other end of the line, as expected, was Sally.  They'd worked together for seven years and yet she still treated him as if he didn't know what he was doing or know anything about the job.
     "Roger, where are you today?  I don't see you in the queue."
    "I'm sorry, Sally, I was just about to hop in there."  As he said this, Roger turned on his set and viewership monitor.  He looked directly at the retinal scanner and clicked the button on his remote to sign in.
    "You know that we're supposed to have two and a half million viewers in queue starting at three P.M."
    "I know, I'm sorry I'm late."
    "It's not just, this, Roger.  I've been meaning to have a talk with you about your conduct lately."
    "What do you mean?  This might be the first time I've ever been late."
    "Being late is one thing, but you haven't put in extra hours in months.  I used to count on you putting in twelve, fourteen hours a day.  Weekends too.  But I haven't seen you work a minute over Forty hours in weeks."
    "I've been working my scheduled shift," he said.
    "You have.  Of course that doesn't count against you, but it speaks to a larger attitude shift.  I can't help but notice there hasn't been a sponsor purchase on your card in some time either."
    "Again, not required."
    "I know it's not required, but these sponsors pay your wages.  All of our wages.  It's a sign of good faith when we go out and buy their products."
    He'd had this argument with Sally many times, and knew there was no winning it.  Rather than try, he just lied.
    "Listen, my son's birthday is today, and the reason I'm late is that I was getting him the Nerf Radical Disk," This would touch a nerve with her.  There was a pause on the line signaling that she was looking up the purchase.
    "Ooh, that's good.  Those ads just started airing.  Why don't I see that on your card?"
    "I forgot my card, paid cash."
    "Cash, hmf, how quaint."
    He didn't respond.
    "Okay look, it doesn't do us any good without documenting it.  Take the last ten minutes of your shift to fill out a purchase log.  I see you in the queue, so have a good night and don't be late again."
     "Yes ma'am." 
     Sally hung up and Roger immediately dialed Karen.  He dialed without taking his eyes off the screen, an art he'd had to master after the introduction of the laser eye-tracking sensor.  At first, all that was required was logging in and out of the system.  Then the network caught on that people were logging in and doing house-work, second jobs, or even just leaving their house altogether.  
     As a solution, the sensor tracked worker's eye movement and focus and made sure they were watching the screen at all times.  They were allowed an hour and a half worth of breaks per eight hour shift which included lunch break and two fifteen minute breaks.  Bathroom breaks and accumulated blinks also counted in the total.  Bathroom breaks were never to occur during commercial breaks unless absolutely necessary.  Any breaks beyond these had to be cleared through a supervisor who would log them in the time-tracking system. 
    After a couple rings, Karen picked up and Roger briefly explained the situation with Sally.
    "So can you pick up a Radical Disk and pay cash?  I'll need the receipt to fill out the purchase log," he said.
    "Okay, sweetie.  Is she going to gripe about the time stamp on it?"
    "Probably.  I don't know, maybe I can scratch it out or fold the receipt over."
    "Roger, you've got to find another job."
    "I know, honey."
    "It's just, you're so much better than that.  And I know you've got the good shift and all, but, you miss every family event and take so much abuse."
    "The economy isn't great, but I've been looking."
    "Not hard enough.  I'm sorry, I don't mean to nag.  It's just, I don't know if Matt even wants a Radical Disk.  I mean, who ever heard of mandatory purchasing?"
    "They're not mandatory."
    "If the only way not to take shit from your boss is to buy crap you don't want or need, it's mandatory."
    "I know."
    "Listen honey, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to stress you out.  Have a great shift, I'll see you in a bit.  Love you."
    "Love you too."
    Roger hung up and set the phone on the cushion next to him.  This job had caused many spats between he and his spouse, from the moment he applied.  There was an extensive hiring process that involved questionnaires, monitoring of viewing habits, as well as investigation of financial background all intended to pair the viewer with a network that appealed to their television taste but also their economic class.  As such, people of greater means were assigned to channels that attracted advertisers of higher end products, thus pairing products with viewers who could afford to buy them.  These advertisers, naturally paid more, and the viewers were paid more in return.  The end result was a situation where middle class viewers would get paid for watching middle class advertisements and would never be able to afford the upper class products or wages.
    This wasn't of as great a concern to Roger.  Karen had always been more political than him, and beyond his disgruntled feelings of late, Roger had always made decent money.  He received overtime for watching extra hours and bonuses for buying advertiser products or getting his family to watch with him.  He knew he was making the most money he could, which bothered him, but what bothered him most was the content.
    In the old model, networks tried to make the best programming possible to attract viewers and in turn attract advertisers.  By flipping this model around and guaranteeing an audience to advertisers, the content had gone to hell.  Even the best shows had one-dimensional characters, transparent plots, and almost no production values; any vestige of television masquerading as art had long disappeared.
    At least they still aired shows and not just an endless string of commercials.  TV show production budgets were still high enough to keep making them, but once pushed at or below labor costs, full-time commercial channels would surely come next.  
     Commercials had only gotten worse as well.  Where ads had once tried to be flashy, creative, or humorous to get viewer attention, the guaranteed eye-balls made advertisers lazy.  Television marketing had devolved into a series of undistinguished, QVC-style hand-waving and feature-list-belching.  It was 1950's commercial sensibilities brought forward in time not out of kitsch or irony, but the spirit of not giving a shit.
     Roger imagined a future, perhaps a decade away, where his station would just be a black screen with the names of products scrolling by to the sound of static.  He drifted into the sound, sank into it like a warm bath, let the white noise carry him away.
     The high pitched whine of his eye-tracker's focus alarm roused his attention.  His eyes had drifted off screen for more than two minutes.  Had they closed or left the line-of-sight of the tracker altogether, a buzzer would have sounded instead.
     He blinked a few times rapidly and shook his head to regain focus.  He stole a glance at the set-top clock.  He'd been watching for an hour.  Matt's party guests would start arriving soon.  How much more of a distraction would that be if his brain was derailed by the sound of static?
     His tricks to stay focused on his task were similar to those employed by over-the-road truckers to stay awake on long hauls.  Caffeine was a necessity, but he'd also hit himself on the legs or pinch his ear lobe, add an uncomfortable pillow behind his back, or hold one hand up in the air.  He'd once considered buying an eye speculum to allow un-interrupted viewing, but gave up that idea after holding his eyes open with his fingers for a few minutes and felt the pain of his eyes drying out.
     When Karen walked in a moment later, he had his lumpy pillow in the middle of his back and both hands up in the air.
     "It seemed like one of those days," she said.  
     "Getting better," he did not take his eyes of the screen.  The sound of her grocery bags was loud but coming in short bursts.  She must have been holding a lot of them.
     "Do you need help?"
     "No sweetie," she replied, "save up your breaks for when we do Matt's cake."
     She shuffled behind the couch and into the kitchen where he heard her begin to unpack the bags.
     Over the next hour, he watched an inane maverick detective solve an even more inane murder case to the sound track of Karen hanging decorations outside, moving the patio furniture, and milling about in the kitchen.  While a doctor worked for the 76th week in a row to balance her practice with the needs of her family, the smell of Karen's seven layer dip and some from-the-box cupcakes filled his sinuses.
     The sound of laughing kids grew outside the front door and then spilled into the entry-way.  Matt's soccer team and Coach Donna, Karen's sister, had arrived and the party was about to begin.
     "Oh it smells good!" Donna half-shouted over the boys' ruckus.
     Roger tapped a break into his remote and shifted off his butt-trough onto one knee.  Looked at Matt and held his arms out.
     "Hey Matty, come here real quick."
     Matt looked at his friends, embarrassed, but still clacked across the tile floor in his cleats.  He stopped shortof falling in Roger's embrace.
     Roger put his hands on Matt's shoulders.
     "Happy birthday, bud!  I love you."
     "Thanks, Dad," Matt said in the lilting way kids do when being forced to speak.
     "Listen, I'm going to go back to work.  I'm going to save up my breaks so I can get off early to come hang out."
     "Id'll be chen a'clock bah them," Donna interjectedfrom the kitchen with a mouth full of chips and seven-layer dip.
     Matt looked down.
     "Well I'll for sure take my lunch in time for cake," Roger said.
     "Okay, dad," Matt said.  He leaned in for a quick hug then ran to meet his friends in the kitchen.
     Roger slid into his trough and clicked back into work on his remote.  
     Over the next few minutes, additional guests continued to trickle in.  Roger acknowledged each without making eye contact as they walked behind the couch to the back patio.  Roger's job had always been inconvenient for having house guests.  They'd tried setting up the box in the bedroom once, but having the light and sound on constantly in the room interfered with Karen's sleep.  They didn't have space for him to have an office of his own, so they were stuck having him in the living room.  If there was any advantage to the set-up, it was the tax deduction he got on the square footage of the living room as a business expense.  It was the largest room in the house.
     Just as a TV lawyer, with the help of the ghost of his former partner, were about to stave off an oil company from steeling an elderly farmer's land, Roger heard Karen rounding up the group outside for cake.
     She peeked her head in the back door, "Honey, cake time."
     Roger tapped in a break and leapt off the couch and hurried to the back porch.
     Outside, he found the kids all gathered around the patio table, wearing Batman-themed hats and beads. The cake had a large Batman figurine and eight burning candles on top.  The evening air was alight with white and blue lights Karen had hung from the pergola.
     As the group began to sing "Happy Birthday", Roger saw Matt's face light up with anticipation of blowing out the candles and making a wish.  For the first time since lunch, Roger was calm.  When everyone clapped at the song's completion,  Roger hugged Matt's shoulder and kissed his head.
     He looked inside at the TV, saw the lawyer hugging the old farmer's wife, and sickened again.  His life was a television cliche brought on by watching too much of it.  He turned back to the party and grabbed a piece of cake.  He ate it while making small talk with the other adults.  
     Matt started opening presents and Roger warmed with Matt's exclamations at each new action figure, lego set, and comic book.  Matt examined each carefully and Roger could see the wheels turning in Matt's mind about the adventures he would have with each.  Roger cringed when he got to the bag from Roger, the one with the Nerf Radical Disk, and Matt dropped it immediately in favor of the next item.
     Things are so simple when you're a kid.  No worrying about about bosses and shifts.  No finding the bright side in tax breaks or a paycheck.
     Roger blinked out of a stare to realize he was watching the TV again from outside.  The force of habit was too strong, the moving pictures too inviting.  He was checking in on the character's lives while real life was happening around him.
     Karen came up and put her hand on his shoulder, "You probably ought to get back in there, huh?"
     "One sec," Roger said.  He walked into the house and turned the TV off then clocked out on the remote.  He left his phone and the remote inside.  He walked back out onto the patio and put his arms around his wife.