Adventures in Television News

Donna wants cookies.

This is an unusual desire for my bride, as she is more of the low-carb, high-protein, "ewwww, look at the fat content on the Pirate Booty!" type of girl.

However, following a strenuous workout at her gym, a tasty dinner of sole and crab (prepared by yers truly), Donna wanted dessert. We, due to the above-mentioned dietary decisions, often have little in the way of tasty treats.

The most obvious decision, then, is the corner liquor store for some partially hydrogenated sweet. The problem: it is 9:45 p.m. and the store closes rather promptly at 10 p.m.

So hoof it down Reese we go, grumbling all the while about the closing time, wondering if our semi-beloved corner liquor was the only one in the county with a curfew. And then we see it: two news trucks.

Donna gets excited.

"I wonder if someone just won the lottery," she says. "You know, bought the winning ticket."

"Yeah," I respond. "Either that, or..."

And, alas, the grim "or" of that grim equation turned out to be the truth. Earlier that day, the store had been robbed by, according to the clerk, three men. One, he said, beat him up when he tried to, ahem, delay the redistribution of beer scheme.

Joined with Donna and I at the counter was a blond television reporter. (Later research would reveal it to be KCAL9 personality Mary Beth McDade.) The clerk told McDade that he put one of the perps in a headlock, and that he got punched for his trouble.

"But I've seen worse," he said. "I'm from Cambodia. I escaped from far worse people."

Whoa.

"You mean Pol Pot?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Who?" asked the reporter.

"The dictator," I said. "The Khmer Rouge. You know?"

"No," said the reporter.

"Yeah," said the clerk, lifting up his shirt to show a constellation of long-ago scarred burn marks. "They did this. Those kids, they nothing."

"Uh-huh," said the reporter. "Now, where were you standing when they came in again?"

Now, just so you know, I have little love for local television news. The coverage is mostly an appendage, a talkie version of the LA Times and Daily News. It is at best silly, and at worst venal.

My interaction with Ms. McDade failed to make me feel much better. Good God. I might understand if a civilian had never heard of Pol Pot or the millions murdered and raped at his direction. Might. But this sincere, and seemingly willful, ignorance, made me nauseated.

We left empty handed. Viewers of the piece were, I'm sure, left empty as well.