We Interrupt this Transition

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Key Demographics

All in all, ninety four contestants opted to leave the competition after merely hearing of its premise. They were all asked to form an orderly queue, given a choice of a check for $100 or a $100 Garden gift card, and then given the offer, for $25 more, to step in front of a step-and-repeat banner with the logos for “Woman Up!” and the Garden Prime logo and explain why they walked away. 

 

JASON MORRIS: “If it was just me, I might be tempted to stay a couple of days to see if I could win a bit more cash, sure, but to do it I’ve got to turn in my man card? Hell, I’d never hear the end of it from my friends and family.”

 

BLAKE HILL: “They’re talking about operating on people, man. I was expecting, you know, Survivor or some shit. Not… chances of survival.”

 

PETER OYAMA: “Yeah, I’m just not feeling it. My parents would kill me. Not literally. Maybe literally? Mom would have a heart attack if she knew I was going to be in Mexico for a year. They’re really afraid of cartel violence, and I couldn’t do that to my mom. She’d give herself an ulcer worrying about me.”

 

IAN FIELDS: “Dr. Vadekar pretty much told us not to do the show, and he seemed like he knew what he was talking about. I mean, when even the medical advisor on the show is telling you not to do the show, you should probably trust the medical advisor, no?”

 

LEWIS McMAHON: “I just don’t trust that doctor. He looked crazy. Like he was going to start cutting into us. Are you sure you haven’t hired a serial killer?”

 

GUY PETERSON: “I mean, I always thought of what it would be like to be a woman. I mean, what man hasn’t? They’re prettier, you know, and it’d be nice to, you know, be the center of attention, and to… but, uh, I’m Baptist, and this whole thing just seems like it’s against God, you know?” 

 

GLENN ALLISON: “Oh no. I already get too much flack because my last name is ‘Allison’, I’m not going to give those [BLEEP]ers back at the office more reason to pile [BLEEP] on me.”

 

RICHARD PHILLIPS: “I think I could have done it actually. I’m secure enough in my manhood that I could wear dresses, maybe even try those hormones, but here’s the thing - I wouldn’t feel right doing it. I kinda get the feeling that people would think that I’m playing around with it? That I’m making fun of women? I don’t think women would want me doing this, pretending to be one of them.”

 

***

Chandra and Daria were in Chandra’s office in the Garden branch location. They had the raw feed from the studio pumped into their laptops, and both were making notes on how to eventually pitch and market the show to the viewing audience. 

Chandra squinted her eyes as from her perspective, the nine remaining contestants were herded back onto the main stage to meet with Erin. 

“Oh, that’s not good,” Chandra said, sighing. 

Daria looked over to the monitor, and then back to Chandra. 

“What? What’s not good?” 

Chandra frowned and looked over to Daria. 

“Don’t they look a little… monochromatic to you?” 

“The contestants?” 

Chandra flipped back through some paperwork. 

“The one hundred and three that made it to the studio, what was the breakdown? Wait, no, I have it here. 48 white, 33 hispanic or latino, 10 Asian, 11 African-American, and one Pacific Islander.”

Chandra then turned to the little blue-glowing speaker box next to them. “EVE, what is the racial makeup of California?”

EVE, the in-house AI that Garden had developed, was a feat of over 300 million dollars of engineering man hours, technology, and required a small hydroelectric dam just to keep cool. It was capable of understanding and parsing human speech, evaluating possible answers and coming back with the one that it determined would best suit the question, not only taking into consideration the words, but also time of day, location, recent news and events, current search trends, and even the subtle nuances of stressed syllables in the user’s voice. It could answer any question - any question at all - asked of it.

“To apply makeup to a Californian, especially one who might embrace a laid-back sun-kissed vibe, you can follow these steps to achieve a natural, fresh, and effortlessly polished look:”

“No, EVE, never–”

“Prep the skin by cleansing the face to remove any dirt or oils, then moisturize by using a lightweight hydrating product with SPF sunscreen, as Californians are often exposed to the sun.” 

“EVE, stop, I mean–”

“Use a lightweight foundation or BB/CC cream to even out the skin tone. For a more natural glow, opt for a product with a dewy finish.”

“EVE, I meant racial makeup.”

“Racial Makeup, also known as ‘blackface’, is a practice where white actors would–”

Daria rolled her eyes, and unplugged EVE from the wall. 

“Why do you even have that thing?”

Chandra shrugged. “Something about eating our own dogfood.”

Daria turned her laptop over to Chandra. “Okay, so of the original 103 contestants, we’re a little over-represented by white people, by about 8%, under-represented by Asians by 5% and latinos by 6%, and over-represented byAfrican-Americans by 5%. 

Chandra frowned. 

“But of the ones who stayed in after we explained the premise, it’s ninety percent white.”

“Eighty nine percent,” corrected Daria. “And yeah, I’m not surprised.”

“What do you mean?” asked Chandra. 

“Okay, promise me you’ll stop me if I say something stupid-white-girl-racist.”

“Daria?”

“Promise me.”

Chandra frowned.

“Okay, I promise. If you say something stupid-white-girl-racist, I will tell you. You will know.”

Daria frowned. 

“Because it’s not just white privilege, you know. I’m also on the autistic spectrum and sometimes I say stuff that–”

“Daria. Spit it out.”

Daria sighed. “It’s more dangerous for minorities to come out as trans. Around 85% of cases of fatal violence against trans people since 2013 have been against people of color.” 

Chandra’s eyes opened wide. 

“Where are you getting that from?” 

Daria shrugged. “Human Rights Campaign website. More than that though, you’re talking about marginalized identities, right? Well you compound the marginalized identity of being black, or hispanic, or asian, with the marginalized identity of being trans, and it’s just… it can be too much. I’m not surprised that most of our contestants from marginalized identities aren’t sticking around to the next round. If they already know what it was like to be marginalized… I’m not sure they’d take on the risk that maybe the white contestants might be oblivious to.”

Chandra slumped down on the couch. 

“Okay. So, that explains it. Still leaves us with a problem, though.”

Daria turned her laptop back to her, watching the feed. 

“It does. Don’t know how to solve it right now. Maybe we just have to live with it and hope for the best. Or maybe we point that out. Like, we had a pretty diverse contestant pool to begin with, but… there are concerns with race and transness that we can’t possibly fully answer here, but we know it affected our show?” 

Daria took a sip of coffee, and Chandra tapped her laptop with her pen, churning through some ideas.

“I just had a thought. What if as a follow up, we did a show that took white people and turned them black?” 

Coffee spewed out of Daria’s nose.

“Jesus, Chandra!” she yelled as she frantically searched for some tissues. 

Chandra got off the couch to hand her some from a nearby table. 

“Relax, Daria, I was only kidding.”

Daria dabbed the tissues on her face and anywhere else coffee got sprayed. 

“No, no, I mean, I know you were kidding, Chandra, but I just realized that that’s one of the questions we’re going to have to answer when we promote the show. Why men to women? Why not white to black?”

Chandra sat back down again, and cringed a little.

“Oh lord, why do we have to use being turned black as the example? I mean you’re right. It’s going to be asked. Do we have an answer for that?” 

Finally cleaned up, Daria sighed.

“We do, kind of. I went over this with Daryl, actually, why a white-to-black show wouldn’t work.”

“Explain it to me, then?”

“Black people don’t suffer from being black.”

Chandra tilted her head, stared at Daria, and looked her straight in the eye.

“Daria, you remember you asked me to tell you when you were being stupid-white-girl-racist?”

Daria raised her hands and waved them, frantically. 

“No, no no no no, I mean, obviously black people suffer. And the suffering stems from how society - specifically white-dominated society, treats black people.” 

Chandra narrowed her eyes. 

“Go on,” she said. 

Daria could feel how thin the ice she was treading on had become. 

“What you suffer from is racism. And it sucks. Bigotry, institutionalized racism, all of it. But it’s external, not intrinsic. If you take a bunch of white people and turn their skin color black, nothing would change until the newly black people would have to interact with white-dominated society.” 

Chandra tilted her head, looked to the side, and eventually nodded.

“Right, but how is that different from ‘Woman Up?’”

“I think,” said Daria, “that’s the whole point of why we’re making this show. To show exactly how different it is, when it’s not society, but your own body, that is out to get you. These contestants aren’t going to go through hell just because they’re going to have to interact with the patriarchy. They’re going to go through hell because they’re men that we’re forcing into women’s bodies.”

Chandra frowned and looked down at her laptop.

“I’m still not sure you’re not suffering from white-priviledge blindness here. But I think I get what you’re saying. I’ve often thought about how my life would be different if I were white, I don’t know if I’ve thought about how I would be different - as a person - if I were white. But for now, I guess that’s a good enough answer for the press if they ask it. If there’s a way to get that down to ten words or less, I think it’ll be an easier sell.”

“I think,” said Daria, “if there was a way to explain it to people in ten words or less, I wouldn’t have pushed to make this show.”

***

The nine remaining contestants were arranged in a semicircle on the stage, in alphabetical order by first name - Bradley, Ethan, Jacob, Jett, Gooch (Jude), Leonard, Oscar, Rafael, and Victor. Erin stood in the middle of all of them, as makeup touches were reapplied. 

Sam stood behind the cameras, giving everyone there a last minute pep talk. 

“Alright, does everyone know what they’re going to say when we ask you to introduce yourself?”

The contestants all nodded. 

“Good,” Sam continued. “Now, this is going to look a bit chaotic, but in actuality, we’re going to keep this very structured. Erin’s going to go from stage left - that’s Bradley - to stage right - that’s Victor - and ask you to introduce yourselves and the fun facts about yourselves. After the introduction, Erin will ask some follow up questions, and if you want to chime in and comment on what someone else says, press the button in front of you. The light will turn yellow, meaning that our studio team knows you want to say something. When we’ve got the camera on you and we’re ready for you to speak, the light will turn green, got it?” 

More nods of ascent. 

“Everybody ready?”

There were a range of reactions, but as an aggregate group, the contestants all averaged out to a ‘curious shrug,’ and Sam was satisfied with that. 

“Alright Erin. We’ll roll tape in thirty.”

Erin nodded. “Got it.” She shook out her hands, getting the pre-performance jitters out again. It was game time. 

(“In Five. Four. Three…”)

She smiled, looked into camera one, and re-introduced the contestants. 

“It seems we’ve hardly even begun and we’ve lost ninety percent of our contestants in the first fifteen minutes. That brings our jackpot down to–”

Erin motioned towards the big LED screen, tracking the money, as the number of remaining contestants counted down from 99 to 9, and the money counted down to $11,200. The payout counter remained at $100, however. 

“--eleven thousand, two hundred dollars.”

Erin turned back to the cameras. 

“So the question is - why did these nine contestants stay in our game when the others have left. Let’s get to know our Remaining Nine, starting with–” 

Erin turned to Bradley. 

“Bradley Ewart! Bradley, we’ve talked before, haven’t we?”

Bradley nodded. 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Erin let out a little playful snort. “You can just call me Erin, Bradley. Do you prefer Brad or Bradley?” 

“I honestly prefer Bradley. Although sometimes Jett calls me Brad.”

“So, Bradley, tell me more about yourself.”

“Well, I’m Bradley Ewart, I’m 24 years old from Vancouver, and I–”

Sam cut Bradley off. 

“Hold it. Bradley, that was great, but could you do me a favor? Instead of looking at Erin during the introductions, could you look straight into camera three?”

Bradley looked around, and pointed to the camera with the number three on the front of it.

“That one?”

“Perfect. Sorry to interrupt.”

Bradley nodded… and stared blankly into camera three. 

“Bradley, anything wrong?” asked Sam. 

“Oh, no, I was just waiting for you to say ‘Action’ or something.”

Sam nodded. “No, no, just go ahead. Start whenever you feel ready.” 

Bradley nodded. 

“Right. I’m Bradley Ewart, I’m 24 years old from Vancouver, and I work in construction here in L.A. I live with my boyfriend, Jett, in Venice Beach.”

Bradley looked over to Sam, and Sam nodded. 

“Bradley, that was perfect. For the rest of this, you can just go ahead and talk to Erin like it’s a normal conversation.” 

“Okay,” said Bradley. 

Erin headed over to Bradley’s podium.

“So, Bradley. I notice that both you and Jett decided to stick around. I have to ask, what convinced you to hear us out when everyone else was leaving?” 

Bradley put two fingers into the collar of his shirt and cleared his throat. 

“Well, Jett seems really into the idea, and I guess a combination of that and curiosity. I still don’t know if I’m going to actually participate in the full game. It’s… I mean, one of the things they were talking about was removing my beard. I like my beard.”

Rafael pushed his button. Jimmy whispered into Erin’s ear, and Erin turned towards Rafael.

“Rafael?”

Rafael shrugged. “I gotta agree with Bradley. It’s a good beard. I wish I could grow a beard like that.” 

Bradley blushed. 

“Aw, thank you, Rafael. Anyway, Erin, I don’t know if I’m going to go on to the actual next steps myself. Then again, you know, if Jett’s doing it, I kinda want to be there with him? To help him through it? I don’t know. I’ve got a lot to think about.” 

“Indeed you do. You all do,” said Erin, who then turned to Ethan. 

“And you, can you introduce yourself?” 

Sam pointed from Ethan to camera three.

“Hi. I’m Ethan MacDonald, I’m a computer science student from the University of California at San Diego. I’m here with my friend, fellow comp-sci student Leonard Harrison. In my spare time I like to go to the beach, play video games. I’m actually thinking about building my own game, although I had been using the Unity engine, and the issues with the licencing has me reconsidering it and going with either Unreal or Godot and I–” 

Erin cut him off. 

“So, what made you decide to stick around?”

Ethan bit his lower lip in thought. 

“Oh, yeah, that. Um, well, I was listening when they were explaining the medical risks, and considering that there wouldn’t probably be any permanent changes until week ten - what Dr. Vadekar called the ‘red line’, I thought maybe it would be worth the risk. I mean, I don’t know if I would like, do surgery or anything, but maybe I earn a little bit of money, then drop out when we get close to the red line?”

Erin swung over to Victor, whose podium was lit. 

“Really? Kind of a cop-out, no? I mean, why even compete if you’re not in it to win it?” 

Victor sneered a bit to heighten the drama and give the audience someone to boo and hiss at. 

“If you can’t hack it, just go now and leave the prize money for the rest of us. I didn’t come here to make friends. I came here to prove I can take on a challenge like no other.” 

Now Jacob’s light turned on. 

“Uh, yeah, I don’t really know who you are, but I’m kinda here to make friends. I thought this was going to be like a ninja warrior thing, but Gooch here…”

Jacob motioned to Gooch, next to him. 

“Yo,” said Gooch, giving a little salute. 

“...Gooch here convinced me that this was one of those bad ideas that’s gonna make a good story, and I’m down with that. I think Ethan’s right - just take it a day at a time, make the decision about whether to risk it for the biscuit or play it safe for the… for the…”

Gooch jumped in. 

“Play it safe when it chafes!” 

“Exactly,” said Jacob. “Oh, yo… Ethan, you should tell Erin about how you got involved in this!”

Ethan’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and gave a soft, bemused smile, tilting a bit to one side.

“Nah, nobody wants to hear that…” 

Erin’s interest was piqued. 

“Why not tell us anyway?” 

Ethan dismissed it with a wave of his hand. 

“My sister, believe it or not, entered me into the contest. As a joke, believe it or not. I mean, I don’t know if I’m going to continue, or how far I get, but–” Ethan looked directly into Camera three, and pointed at it“--when I get home, the first thing I’m going to do with any prize money is buy a big bag of banana chips and eat them all myself.”

Erin giggled, tilting her head back as she did so. 

“Ethan, thank you for that lovely non-sequitur.”

“You’re welcome,” said Ethan, blissfully unaware of the oddness of his behavior. 

Erin then turned over to Jacob. 

“So, Jacob, you and Ethan know each other?” 

Jacob shrugged.

“Not really. Ethan and I and Gooch and Lenny over there–” (Leonard waved) “--just happened to be next to each other in the line in front of the studio this morning. They seem like good guys, you know?” 

“What about you, Jacob?” Erin probed. “Tell me more about yourself.” 

(“Camera two.” Sam mouthed, and held up two fingers.)

“Well, I’m Jacob Spader, I’m a personal trainer from Bakersfield California. I’m very much into the work-hard play-hard mentality, you know. Livin’ the good life. As I said before, Gooch told me about this thing and I just kinda want to see where it goes.” 

Erin nodded. “And Gooch would be Jude over here?”

Gooch grinned. 

“Got it in one. Gooch is my nickname, from back in high school. Jacob and I went to school together in Bakersfield, until I dropped out and started my own business.”

Erin nodded.

“Really? An Entrepreneur?” 

Gooch shrugged. 

“Yeah, I guess. I just hit upon a niche, and it seems to be working. Maybe if I get any prize money I can scale out Puffs4Pets.”

“Puffs4Pets?” Erin asked.

“Basically, I make custom bongs so that you can toke alongside your pet. With a little bit of money I can start a new product line - Chill Chews. Doggie edibles.”

“You see, when I dropped out, I had to pick up a trade, so I ended up with glassblowing. Eventually I got so good at it, I started my own business making bongs, and then one day, while I was… relaxing, I had a brilliant idea: Bongs for pets. You’d be surprised at how many dogs are stoners. Like, that dog that rides the skateboard over at Ventura Beach? If that dog isn’t baked, like, ninety percent of the time he’s on that board, I’ll eat my hat.” 

Erin put a hand to her ear, as if someone was talking to her. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but the director wants me to stop for a moment.”

A tense moment. And Erin frowned. 

“Mr. Guthrie…”

“Call me Gooch.”

“Gooch… I have some bad news that you might not be aware of. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re not supposed to intentionally give either dogs or cats any THC products. It’s… actually life threatening to the pet. They’re much more sensitive to it than humans are and even small amounts can lead to health issues.”

Gooch’s face froze, eyes widening as if the full weight of his own stupidity crashed down like a poorly constructed Jenga tower.

“How did I not know that? I just assumed that dogs were natural stoners. Especially the skateboarding dog! His name was Pot Roast for god’s sake! I gotta shut down my entire business now. Oh my god. Those poor dogs. Those poor cats!”

Erin looked around, puzzled and more than a little unsettled. This was not the flavor of drama that she was supposed to be dealing with today.

Leonard, situated next to Gooch, reached out and gave Gooch a pat on the back. 

“Hey, hey. You couldn’t have known.”

Jett, on the other side of Gooch, piped up. 

“Although, maybe if you had actually gone to your high school… that kind of basic biology could have come up in class?” 

Leonard grimaced and sucked air through his teeth. 

“Dude, not cool punching a man when he’s down.”

Gooch looked to the heavens, then back down again. 

“No, Lenny, my man, Jett’s right. Jett’s so right. I need to go back to school.”

Leonard nodded. 

“I need to go to agricultural college,” Gooch continued. “to find– no. To genetically engineer a strain of marijuana that is safe for pets.” 

“That… that’s great,” said Leonard, looking around, concerned. “It’s… great that you have a dream and that you know what you want out of life. I mean, I really want to be a stand-up comedian. Professionally. Don’t know if I’ll ever get there, I mean, I’m not dropping out of school or anything, but I’m practicing, getting better. Searching for new material. Kinda why I’m here. I kinda get the feeling this is going to turn into an experience.” 

Jett rolled his eyes, and Erin turned to him.

“So, Jett, you seem to already be dressed for the occasion.”

Jett smirked and posed, leaning with both elbows on his podium, and answered Erin condescendingly. 

“Yeah, mens’ clothes are boring as hell, when you’ve got a body this good, you want to decorate it with the best stuff, not hide it behind layers of cotton-poly blend. I’m out there performing for a living every day so I gotta look good, or I don’t eat. It’s a heavy burden, but I bring joy to people.”

“Ugh,” said Rafael, from near the edge of the stage. Erin turned to him. 

“Rafael, something wrong?”

Rafael sighed.

“Men’s clothes aren’t boring, they’re just designed to do something different from women’s clothes. Women’s clothes are all about trying to accentuate how attractive a woman’s body is. To point out the physical characteristics. Men’s clothes are all about status and pointing out social characteristics. You look at a suit and you look at the cut, at the material. You look at women’s clothing and you’re… pretty much looking at exposed skin, cleavage holes, a tight fit to show off the curves. Yeah, women’s clothing has more choices, but most of the choices suck. Even when they’re supposedly the same. Like these jeans. You could put a two liter bottle of soda in the pockets of men’s jeans, and still have room for a Leatherman.”

“Like a gimp?” Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Leonard facepalmed and tried to keep from laughing too hard. 

Rafael looked over at Ethan, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to solve a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. 

“No. A multitool. A Leatherman brand multitool.”

“Oh,” said Ethan. “Sorry. I thought you meant–”

“I know what you thought I meant.”

Jett looked over at Ethan, a smirk curling their lips as their gaze sharpened. 

“That’s an interesting Freudian slip there. Care to elaborate?” 

Ethan nodded. “Oh, sure. You see, in the BDSM subculture–”

“He was being rhetorical,” Leonard said, abruptly interrupting his friend Ethan before he said something on national TV that he shouldn’t. “You don’t actually need to elaborate.”

Leonard figured that it would probably be best for his friend if he could turn the conversation back to Jett. 

“Actually, Jett, what’s your whole deal?”

“My whole deal?”

“Yeah, why did you enter a macho man contest, and why did you stay in when you found out it was– actually, never mind, I think that answer is obvious, now that I think about it.”

Jett let out a sharp laugh, brushing Leonard’s comment aside. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m more manly than anyone else on this stage - even when I’m in a skirt. A few hormones don’t scare me. I’m going to take the money and still be the hottest guy on Ventura beach.” 

“Well, of course you think you can,” said Oscar. “You’re one of the transgenders.” 

Everyone looked at Oscar. A wicked grin spread across Victor’s face, eyes sparkling with pure enjoyment at the unfolding disaster. 

Jett just scoffed. 

“No, I’m not trans. I’m a guy. I’m a guy who looks good in women’s clothing.”

“Duh,” said Oscar. “What do you think being trans is?” 

Even Erin started to scowl at that, and Jimmy leaped into action by speaking into Erin’s earpiece. 

“Erin, just a quick reminder. Do not punch the contestants. We’re not insured for it. Let the contestants punch each other - that we’re insured for.”

Erin laughed at Jimmy’s comment, which had the side-effect of making it seem like Oscar’s comment was laughable. 

Someone who clearly wasn’t laughing was Rafael. 

“It’s being uncomfortable in your own skin,” he interjected. “It’s hating who you are because your body is morphing in ways that make you feel less like you. It’s being treated like someone you aren’t, being left out of all the things that matter to you. It’s hell.”

Victor, seeing an opportunity for drama, twisted the knife.

“So why are you even here?” 

“I don’t know!” Rafael practically screamed it. “I don’t know why I’m still here except that maybe it’ll get my parents off my back for once. They don’t get it. They don’t get that it’s not about clothing, it’s not about any of that. They don’t even get that you can want to be a man and be attracted to men! My mother tried to set me up with a lesbian from her church group last month. Maybe if I go on a fucking game show where they  fucking offer me a shit-ton of money to detransition, and they have it on film, they’ll finally see how much I hated trying to be a woman.” 

Rafael swung his finger around to the other contestants. 

“And they’ll see how much you all hate being women, and maybe they’ll finally see that I’m like you guys. I’m a man. Or maybe I’m just here because the next bus home isn’t for another couple of hours and I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

There was a tense silence. It was broken by Jett. 

“Well, that’s reassuring. I kind of thought you were a ringer, actually. What with not having to go through the surgeries and whatnot.” 

Bradley’s eyes shot wide open. 

“Jesus, Jett, you’re actually going to go through with the surgeries?”

Jett dismissed Bradley’s concerns with a wave of his hand. 

“No, but obviously no one else here is, either. All I have to do is wait for everyone else to drop out, and then I win the grand prize. It’s a game of chicken. I mean, it’s ironic, but this whole… ‘who can become a woman’? It really is the ultimate test of masculinity.” 

Erin smiled. “Well, I did warn you it wasn’t going to be easy.” 

Ethan raised his hand. 

“Question.”

Erin turned to him. 

“What is it, Ethan?”

Ethan furrowed his brow. “Are we still doing the ‘pushing the button to light up the podium and wait to be called on’ thing, or is that just pretty much all out the window now?” 

From the booth, Jimmy called for a five minute break. 

With the cameras off, Sam came onto the stage to address the contestants one more time.

“Thanks for bearing with us,” said Sam. “So, we’re just going to do the outro in a few minutes. After the outro, you can head home with your packets. If you decide not to come back, just give us a courtesy call and we’ll mail you a check for your prize. If you decide to stay on, please remember to read all the forms carefully and sign them before the two week deadline.”

The contestants were still a bit sore, all except for Victor. 

“Hey guys,” said Victor. “That was great! I’m looking forward to working with all of you on this project. We’ve got some amazing chemistry here!” 

Rafael let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing their temples as if trying to push the frustration away. 

“What chemistry? It’s like they chose a bunch of people designed to get under each other’s skin.”

“I know,” said Victor. “Isn’t it great?”

Sam took Erin aside. 

“Hey, Erin, you still doing okay?” 

Erin looked over at Sam. 

“Well, I was until you asked that. Did I not look okay?” 

Sam shook her head and smiled.

“I meant, are you okay after what that Oscar guy said? Brief moment, but you looked rattled.” 

Erin sighed.

“Yeah, it was shitty, but maybe he’ll come out of this with a little bit of perspective. A little more empathy. An understanding of the struggles that trans people go through, and maybe that will change his mind. And who knows, maybe seeing that transformation in someone will be cathartic.”

Sam looked back at the contestants and sighed. “Or maybe he’ll be so stubborn he’ll stick with it until we cut his balls off. Watching that might be cathartic too.”

Erin couldn’t help but laugh, and got a pat on the back from Sam. 

“C’mon, let’s get back into position for the outro,” said Sam.

The set was mostly the same, but someone had placed a plinth with the latest model Garden Phone on top of it. 

Once again, Jimmy did a countdown. 

(In Five, Four, Three…) 

“So obviously, our contestants have a lot to think about, a lot of different reasons for being here, and a hell of a challenge ahead of them. But who will come back and commit to our first real hurdle, the administration of anti-androgens?” 

Erin turned to the contestants. 

“What if we sweetened the deal a bit?” she asked, playfully. “What if… we added 2,500 dollars to the pot for every one of you that comes back and takes the anti-androgens? You don’t need to make the decision right now.”

Erin stepped over to the plinth, picking up the phone. 

“But to help you make that decision, we’ll be giving you all a new GardenTelalpha 5 with a 6.3-inch Temptation Display, full HRD support, twenty four hour battery life, and 256 gigabytes of storage and another terabyte in GardenCloud to store all the pictures with the fifty five megapixel Mega Focus Octavius Lens.”

“The Garden Telalpha 5 comes in four different colors,” Erin continued, “Wintergreen, Space Obsidian, White Porcelain, and Peony Pink. Guess which color you’re all getting!”

Erin grinned at the contestants. 

“Better still, we’ve given you all each other’s Garden Telecom contact info, and you’ll have crystal-clear video chat with GardenTelecom pre-installed. So you can call each other up - and convince your fellow contestants to stay in to build that pot… or try to convince them to drop out and increase your share of the prize pot.” 

“Looks like all of you have some very important choices coming up. For those of you who choose not to continue, we’ll say goodbye, for those of you going onto the next step, I’ll see you at Casa Del Garden in Yucatan, Mexico!” 

Once again, the theme song played as the LED display showed geometric pink and lavender patterns. 

Jimmy’s voice came over the loudspeakers. 

“Okay everyone, that’s a wrap for the contestants, but Sam will take you aside and brief you on next steps before you head home. Erin, we’ll need you to do a quick shoot with John - a legal thing, don’t worry about it, and then we’ll call it a shooting day. Good job everyone.” 

***

Sam took the contestants aside, handed out the phones, and explained that they were theirs to keep. However, she pointed out a key feature - if the phone was used to call another contestant via the custom “Woman Up! Contestant” app, the conversation would be recorded to Garden Cloud so that it might be used in the show. 

“So just make sure that you’re alone when you make or take these calls,” she explained, “and that there’s nothing you don’t want shown on TV in the background.” 

Afterwards, the contestants headed home, and they started wrapping up the production, and evacuating the sound-stage. 

***

Right before they were about to leave, Sam headed over to Jimmy in the director’s booth. He was staring off a little into space, reviewing some of the ‘rushes’ - the raw footage from the day. 

Jimmy was looking, specifically of the video of Rafael’s rant on the main monitor. 

“It’s being treated like someone you aren’t, being left out of all the things that matter to you. It’s hell,” the recording said. 

Jimmy turned the ‘jog dial’  to scrub back through the video, and played it again. 

“It’s being treated like someone you aren’t, being left out of all the things that matter to you. It’s hell.”

“Jimmy?” Sam interrupted. 

Jimmy snapped back to reality, and furrowed his brow. 

“Oh. Yeah, ready to go home, Sam?” 

“I am, but you seemed like you were deep in thought there.” 

“I was,” he said. “I’m just thinking about what Rafael was saying.”

“Yeah,” said Sam, “but don’t worry about it. I’m sure that we’ll bleep out the curse words in post.” 

“No, not about the cursing,” said Jimmy. “Just something he said. I can’t put my finger on it.”

***