We Interrupt this Transition

CHAPTER TWELVE: Media Relations

Ethan opened the door to his house, and headed into the living room, where Kayla was watching ‘The Traitors’.

“Hey, Ethan,” Kayla said, smirking. “Back already?” 

“Yep,” said Ethan. “I’m one of the nine remaining contestants.”

Kayla couldn’t hit pause on the remote control fast enough. Her mouth hung open for a split second before she snapped it shut, a bitter gleam in their eyes betraying the envy they tried to hide behind pure disbelief.

Ethan just shrugged and nodded, motioning to a little ‘Garden Alpha’ branded tote bag that he and the other contestants had been given. 

“They gave me a packet of material to go over, talk with friends and family, paperwork to fill out. It involves filming in Yucatan, Mexico, so I’ll have to take a semester - or maybe two - off school, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Yucatan. Like, Cancún Yucatan?”

“No, Cancún is in the state of Quintana Roo, not Yucatan. But it’s like, only a couple of hours away. Though I guess it’s on the Yucatan peninsula.”

Kayla blinked, clearly thrown off. 

“Dear God. You’re serious.”

Ethan shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The only response Kayla could come up with was a sputtering series of sentence fragments.

“You. They picked you. For. You. For a Macho… for a reality-show… they actually picked YOU? To be on television?”

Ethan shrugged, pretending that he didn’t enjoy seeing his sister squirm at this moment. 

“Yeah. I mean, why wouldn’t they? They also picked Leonard, by the way. And they gave me this neat phone.” 

Ethan pulled out his new Garden Telalpha from his pocket.

“I even like the color.” 

***

There was the smell of charred meat, the sound of country music, and the clinking of beer bottles as Oscar invited his pals, Reg and Henry, for a little celebratory late-evening barbeque.

Reg reached over and handed Oscar a Sam Adams from the cooler. 

“So, explain to me once again what this show is about,” Reg asked. Oscar popped the cap of the beer against the grill while flipping over the brats. 

“Get this. It’s about trannies.”

“Like, car trannies?” asked Harry. “Manual vs. automatic?”

“Good guess,” said Oscar, “but no. They’re taking a bunch of men and they’re going to try to turn them into transwomen over the course of a year.”

Reg stopped in the middle of a bite of burger, tilting his head.

“And… you were selected?”

“Well, it was like, whoever could go the furthest in the process before dropping out gets the money. But I mean, that’s stupid, right? Transwomen do it all the time, right? They put on some makeup, wear a dress, to get into women’s spaces and perv on them. If they can do it, I sure as hell can.” 

Harry sat up, and put his own beer down on the patio table. 

“Now, wait a second here,” said Harry. “All you have to do is wear a skirt for a year and you get a million dollars?” 

Oscar thought about how to respond to that for a good while, before opening his mouth. 

“Well, no. Basically, they make you take some hormones that turn off the testosterone in your body, add estrogen, and yeah, there’s some talk about surgeries down the road but–”

“They’re going to cut your cock off?” said Reg. 

Oscar snorted, as if the notion didn’t deserve a real response.

“Nobody’s going to get their cock cut off. I’m pretty sure they just said that part to scare people.”

Reg suddenly grabbed Oscar by the shoulder, and spun him around. 

“Oscar, they told you they were going to cut your cock off? And you said ‘yes’?”

“What? No!” said Oscar. 

Reg and Harry sighed with relief. A relief that was short lived.

“I said ‘maybe,’” Oscar continued. “Look, if you want to check it out, all the rules and stuff are in that bag over there, you can browse through it if you want.”

Harry did so, flipping through the packet. 

“Whoa, there’s a lot of liability waivers here. Waivers for if you get sick, waivers for permanent bodily harm, waivers for tropical diseases, waivers for surgical complications…”

“They probably have those for every reality TV show. Like, I imagine that there has to be a waiver for Amazing Race that says if you’re dumb enough to take a plane to the wrong Korea, you’re on your own,” said Oscar. 

Harry’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “Dude!”

“What?” said Reg, with alarm. “What is it?”

Harry held up page 183, the one with the calendar on it.

“They’re gonna cut Oscar’s cock off.” 

Reg and Harry both stared and took a step back from Oscar, who was completely relaxed. 

“Guys. Guys. The way the game is structured, I get more money the longer I stay in. Nobody’s going to get their cock cut off - who’d be stupid enough to do that? Worst case scenario, I walk out before they do any surgeries. It’s that simple.”

“But what’s this red line?” asked Reg.

“They had a doctor. Dr. Vadekar or something, told us that if we dropped out before then, there wouldn’t be any permanent effects. See?” 

“Permanent effects?”

“Of the hormones,” explained Oscar. “And why would there be? Look, I know this sounds scary until you actually think about it. Tons of guys go through this just to be pervs in the bathrooms every year and to beat women at sports. Tons of them. And it just goes to show, if I can go through with this, then anyone can. Imagine me getting interviewed by, I don’t know, Gutfeld on Fox, the winner of this contest, in my little pinafore dress, explaining how easy it is to just fake calling yourself ‘trans’ and showing how their whole transgender ideology is fake. I then take some extra doses of testosterone to get back to myself and I bet they’d give me a commentator’s position.” 

Reg and Harry couldn’t argue with Oscar’s logic. Mostly because neither of them was in the habit of using logic, generally. 

***

Rafael was seated at the kitchen table, poking at his stew. His mother and father looked patiently at him. 

“So?” asked his father. “How did it go? Is my daughter going to be a TV star?” 

“I don’t know,” said Rafael. “I’m still thinking about it.” 

His mother offered another scoop of stew from the pot in the middle of the table, Rafael politely declined with a wave of his hand. 

“What is it they want you to do?” said his mother, scooping the stew onto his father’s plate. 

“They want me to be a girl.”

“What?” said his father.

“I don’t understand,” said his mother.

“That makes three of us,” said Rafael. “The whole thing - it’s a show they’re calling ‘Woman Up!’ And it’s all about making men and turning them into trans women for money. So the longer the contestant stays in and gets estrogen and things, the more money they make. It’s stupid.” 

“Wait a minute,” Rafael’s father said. “They invited you to a competition. For men. Where all you have to do to win a million dollars… is be a woman. You, Renata, you, were invited to a game show where all you have to do is be yourself and they give you a million dollars?”

“But I wouldn’t be myself.” 

Rafael’s father slow burned. 

“Renata, for a million dollars, I’d put on your quinceañera dress and dance like a fairy princess! This is the easiest money you’ll ever make in your life.” 

Rafael’s mother came over to his side. 

“No, no, Andrés,” she said, admonishing her husband. “It’s not about the money.” 

Rafael looked up at his mother. 

“Renata has always had a bit of stage fright. Mentioning the quinceañera reminded me. You were shaking like a leaf in that dress - couldn’t wait to get home.” 

Rafael slumped. 

“If I don’t do this show, you’ll think I’m an idiot, won’t you?” 

His mom pulled him into a hug. “No, no, Renata, no! We could never think that.” 

“I mean,” said Rafael’s dad, “a million dollars.” 

The rest of the dinner was in silence. 

Later that night, Rafael went up to his room, looking over the rules. 

He looked over at the pink (ugh, stupid color) phone and the contestant app. He needed to talk to someone, but he didn’t know anyone who could understand. Except maybe…

Bradley picked up the phone. He was wearing a dark t-shirt and sitting in front of some houseplants at a kitchen table. Seeing it was from Rafael, he answered it. 

“Hey Rafael. It’s Bradley!”

“I know, Bradley. I called you!” 

“I know you called me, because the phone rang.” 

Rafael smiled. God, why did the sweet ones already have to be coupled up? 

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about this whole thing. I was thinking about actually going through with it, and I wanted to know if it sounded insane.” 

“Yes,” said Bradley. “Any further questions?” 

Rafael smiled. 

“No, I mean. Just for a while. Just to show my parents how much I suck at being a woman. Even when there’s money on the line. Does that sound stupid to you? I’ll do the show, probably be the first one out, in fact. I know I can’t be a girl.” 

“Nah,” said Bradley. “You probably won’t be the first one out. I’m probably going to be the first one out. They want to get rid of my beard. Forever! I was planning to grow old with this beard! I was planning to be a wizard when I retired. Have you ever seen a clean-shaven wizard? No. They don’t exist.”

Rafael laughed. 

“Bradley!”

“The magic is in the beard. That’s just science.” 

“Then are you even going to do the first bit? The anti-androgen?” 

“I don’t want to, but… it’s just one little bit. Honestly, I kinda don’t want to be alone in the house by myself for three weeks. I think I’d go nuts. And Jett seems pretty gung-ho on this whole thing. I think he’s making a huge mistake, but he can get stubborn when he’s got his mind fixed on something.” 

Rafael sighed. 

“You know, it’s… not my place to say, but maybe… you and Jett don’t have the best relationship.” 

“Oh, well, yeah, but relationships are work, you know? And he’s a good guy. Really. Deep down. Who else would have a boyfriend like me, right?” 

“Are you kidding?”

“Uh, no.”

Rafael straightened up and looked straight into the camera. 

“Bradley, you’re a hunk. A 100% Pure Bred Canadian Kodiak Bear Hunk. You’re sweet, you’re kind, you’re funny, god you’re funny. Any gay man would be thrilled to be with you.” 

“It’s nice of you to say that. But we both know I’m not exactly a catch.” 

“Oh my god, Bradley, I–”

Bradley looked at a clock on the wall. “Oh crap! Sorry, Rafael, I’ve got to go! I’m late to pick up Jett.” 

“Bra–”

But it was too late, Bradley had already hung up. 

“Okay. That settles it,” said Rafael to himself. “Now I’ve got two reasons to do this show.” 

***

Leonard was sitting at his desk, poring over the rules, looking for information, loopholes, everything. He knew Ethan was probably right about being fine up to the ‘redline’, and any exposure on TV was good exposure for his standup ‘career’. 

Hmm. Maybe there was some advantage to forming alliances, like in Survivor. Sure, people weren’t voted off in this game, but if there was any advantage to be gained from having a clique, he had a good idea where to start. 

He took out his phone, set it up, and used the Contestant App. 

Gooch picked up, sitting in front of a pile of paperwork and a bunch of cardboard boxes. 

“Hey Lenny.”

“Hey, Gooch. This a good time?”

Gooch let out a long drawn out sigh. “No, but it’s as good a time as any. I basically have to write emails to all my customers telling them to stop using the product as indicated. I have no idea how the hell I’m going to get out of declaring bankruptcy. The dream is dead.” 

“Yeah, well I was thinking about that,” said Leonard. “You could pivot.” 

Gooch thought about that. 

“Pivot? To what?”

Leonard tilted his head to the side, eyes wide, lips pursed tightly as he considered if maybe this was a really stupid idea. But then again, so was Puffs4Pets…

“Well, on my way home, in the car, Ethan and I were talking about you and Jacob, and I came up with this idea… but… no, it’s too stupid.”

Gooch started to smile, slyly. 

“Too stupid, you say?” He was intrigued. 

“Yeah, I’m just thinking, what if you just changed your target market from bongs for people who like animals to… bongs for people who… really like animals.”

“I don’t follow.”

“What if you made bongs for furries?” 

Gooch gasped, eyes going impossibly wide as he clutched his chest like they'd just witnessed a miracle. 

“Oh my god,” Gooch whispered, voice trembling with awe. “This is genius. Absolute genius. Hold on, I gotta add Jacob to this call, I think there’s a button for it here…”

They dialed out and Jacob now joined the three way call, dressed in a t-shirt, lying on a couch. The sound of a football game was playing in the background, and Jacob reached out with the remote control to mute it.

“Gooooch! What’s up?”

“Jacob, you remember Lenny, right?” 

“Yeah, hey, Lenny. How’s Ethan?”

Leonard shrugged. “He’s doing fine, I think. He said he was going to take some time to torment his sister. I’ve been poring over the rulebook and thinking about strategies.” 

“Lenny and Ethan had the best idea. It’s really gonna save my ass. What do you think of this: bongs for furries.”

Jacob suddenly got very defensive. 

“I… I wouldn’t know. Why are you asking me?” 

Gooch just smiled.

“Because you’re my bro, bro. You think I could redo the site and branding and stuff? Repackage the existing product? Do you think it would sell?”

Jacob looked at Gooch’s little grinning face, and knew… just knew… he couldn’t let his friend down. 

“You’d have to modify the product a lot. And I mean a lot. You should take some notes, okay?” 

Gooch grabbed a pen and the back of an envelope. 

“First, there’s accessibility problems. There’s a limited field of vision in a fursuit. And fursuit paws are bulky and less dexterous than hands, so the thing would have to be spill proof somehow.”

Leonard tilted his head, following the conversation with amusement as Jacob continued. 

“Then you’d have to have some sort of hookah-like thing, because you typically don’t have mouth access. I suppose you could snake in under the neck, or if there’s an opening for the mouth, go in that way. But you have to be careful because breathing through the mask is already restricted. Of course, the big one is fire. A lot of synthetic materials that could melt or catch flame.”

Gooch frantically kept writing down the notes. 

“Ooh, what if there was some sort of electric heating element, instead of fire. Like… like a vape or something.” 

Jacob thought about it. 

“That could work, though you’d also have to worry about smoke residue that could stain the material. Fursuits are hard to clean, you know?” 

Leonard couldn’t keep quiet at this point. “Wait, no, Jacob, how do you know so much about fursuits?” 

Gooch looked up from his writing, to the phone, eyes darting from Jacob to Leonard and back again. 

Jacob went pale, and was at a loss for words for a few moments, then squeaked out a reply. 

“Well, uh, I mean, this is common knowledge, no? Common sense, right, when you think about it.” 

Leonard narrowed his eyes, and thought it was probably not a good idea to push the question if he was trying to get into an alliance with these two. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Jacob. Probably could have found all that out via a quick Google anyway.”

Leonard’s phone beeped at him, and put a little message in yellow text on the screen: “Please use the terms ‘Internet Search’ or ‘Garden WWWheelbarrow.’ The phrase ‘Google’ is trademarked.” 

“My phone just yelled at me for using the word ‘Google’,” said Leonard. 

“Really?” said Jacob, very grateful for the chance to change subjects. “Let me try. ‘Google’”

The same warning flashed. Gooch then took a turn.

“Ooh, let me try. ‘Facebook’”

A similar warning, this time suggesting ‘Garden Friends.’ 

Leonard looked at the phone. “Well, that’s kind of ‘Black Mirror’-esque.”

The phone warned that ‘Black Mirror’ was not available on Garden Alpha and suggested using the generic ‘dystopian techno thriller anthology’ instead. 

***

The next morning, Daria put her purse next to the scanner at the back door of the Garden Alpha offices, letting it read the little RFID chip in her ID card through the leather. Before heading to the office, she entered the breakroom, opened the cabinet, picked out a mug, and placed it under the coffeemaker’s spout. 

Her phone’s ringtone went off and she leaned against the counter as she answered it. “Hello, this is Daria Bryant, director of unscripted programming at Garden Alpha, how can I help you?”

“This is Charlie Simone, I’m a reporter with MTZ, and we were referred to by Garden Alpha’s publicity office to you regarding a television show that your company is producing called ‘Woman Up!’ Do you have time to talk?”

Daria had hoped that she would have been able to get coffee before getting into the hard-to-answer questions, but thus was life.

“Yes, Mr. Simone, give me a moment to get to my office, and we can talk.”

Coffee would have to wait. 

When Daria finally settled into her office, she made sure to close the door so that she wouldn’t be interrupted, then resumed the phone call. 

“So, yes. What is it you would like to know, Mr. Simone?” 

“Well, first, our source has produced what they claim to be a packet of rules and forms for the show, and we would like you to ask to confirm the authenticity of it.”

“It’s probably accurate. You could send over some scans if you like, but we knew that at least one of the contestants would probably leak the information to the press.”

“So, the premise of the show… that you’ve asked men to take hormones and undergo surgeries for a chance at a grand prize, that’s real?”

“One second.” Daria put the reporter on mute, quickly typing a warning to the company chat to get ready for a clusterkerfuffle in media relations.

Daria unmuted the reporter. 

“Sorry about that,” Daria continued. “To answer your question, yes, ‘Woman Up!’ is a reality competition show which tasks men with transitioning to womanhood. The one who goes the furthest wins the grand prize.”

There was a moment of silence.

“And Garden Alpha is producing this?”

Daria let out a slight giggle, “No, of course not.”

“Oh, good, because I was about to say–”

“We’re distributing it, and providing seed funding, but the actual production company on record is Culver-Horowitz Ltd.”

***

Jimmy woke up to the sound of Nirvana’s “You Know You’re Right,” his ringtone specifically for when Sam was calling. He fumbled around for it, then pulled it to his ear. 

“Hey Sam.”

“Hey Jimmy. Have you looked out the window?”

“No? Why?”

Sam was standing in the driveway, looking at the various news vans pulling up alongside the house, with various reporters setting up cameras. 

“Because we have company. I’m going to go and get changed. We should probably meet them out there. You should wear one of your good suits.” 

Jimmy groaned. 

“Okay.”

He forced himself to put two feet on the ground, and ran his hands across his face, feeling his itchy stubble. 

“God,” he said. “I hate wearing suits. I always feel like I’m wearing a costume.”

***

Forty-five minutes later, Sam met Jimmy inside the house, ready to exit out the front door and pull off an impromptu press conference. Sam had put on her best pantsuit, Jimmy in his best navy suit and slightly blue dress shirt. (An old trick he had picked up - white dress shirts never looked right on television.) 

“You ready for this, Jimmy?” asked Sam.

“Well, it’d be nice to have had a chance to get breakfast first,” admitted Jimmy. “But the sooner we answer their questions, the sooner we get rid of the neighbors complaining about the sudden block party we’re holding for the media.”

Sam nodded, then Jimmy opened the door for her, and the two of them stepped out, and were immediately set upon by the horde of vultures equipped with field microphones.

Jimmy pointed to the first one at random. The others quieted down. 

“Mr. Howard. Can you tell us about ‘Woman Up!’ Are you  creating a competition reality TV show about gender transitioning?”

“Yes, though the idea was developed by Ms. Sam Culver, and Sam and I refined the idea together before bringing it to Garden Alpha.”

Sam waited for Jimmy to answer another question, but Jimmy looked over to her, and said. “Your turn, Sam,” then smiled. 

Sam looked at the throngs of reporters, then just did what Jimmy did, and picked one at random.

“Ms. Culver, how do you respond to criticism from LGBTQ+ advocates who might see this concept as exploitative or sensationalist?” 

Sam raised an eyebrow at Jimmy. Why did she get the hard ones? She then turned back to the reporter.

“All reality television is, to a degree, exploitative and sensationalist, however, we have taken great pains to ensure that we are treating our contestants - who can opt out at any time - with decency and respect. We also have consulted with experts in LGBTQ issues to ensure that what we present about the process of transitioning is, so far as we are able, accurate.” 

It was Jimmy’s turn again. 

“What kind of medical and psychological support is provided to the contestants throughout the show?” 

“All of our contestants have free access to our staff medical expert, Dr. Pranav Vadekar, and our psychological advisor, Sheri Winston, who are instructed to give advice that is for the benefit of the contestant, not for the production.” Jimmy said. “We also allow our contestants to check in with friends and family regularly, and they are free to hire their own psychological or medical council, which we reimburse them for.” 

“How do you ensure that the contestants are fully informed and comfortable with such a life-altering process?”

“All the contestants have been briefed on all the known and potential effects of medical treatments. All of them can walk away from the program at any time,” said Sam, “and we encourage them to do so if they do not feel they can comfortably continue.” 

“Do you see this as a celebration of diversity and gender fluidity, or is it meant to push the boundaries of traditional reality TV?” 

“Both, we hope.” said Jimmy. “Next question.” 

The same reporter tried to follow up. “What I mean is, what message are you hoping to send to viewers about gender identity and social expectations of masculinity and femininity?”

Ah, there was less room to wiggle out of that one, Jimmy thought. Luckily, he spent enough time with Daria and Shari to have this answer memorized. 

“That gender identity is innate. That not even the promise of money can make a trans person cis, or a cis person trans. That trans people face struggles and hardships that most of us would have difficulty even understanding. It’s also a hope that by showing those difficult struggles on camera that people will get a better understanding of what it means to be transgender.” 

“How are you preparing for potential backlash from conservative or traditional groups?”

“What would they have to backlash against?” asked Sam in reply. “All of our contestants are willing participants. We seek to document the transition process, not advocate for or against it.”

“Ms. Culver, you came up with this idea, correct? What inspired the concept of a show where men undergo gender transition for a prize?”

Oh shit, thought Sam. She couldn’t possibly tell the truth: that it was a throwaway bad idea. 

“Do you mind if I answer this one, Sam?” asked Jimmy. 

Sam nodded, immediately recognizing that it wasn’t that Jimmy was burning with a desire to answer the question - no. Jimmy looked a little terrified, in fact. 

But he was still leaping in front of the rhetorical bullet that was just aimed at Sam. 

“We were brainstorming ideas in the back garden. And while there’s been some improvement, we thought that there were a lot of, well, inaccurate representations of trans people on television. Mostly negative, but all of it seemed oversimplified at best.”

“Oversimplified how?” asked the reporter.  

“By the time you see a trans person on a documentary or a reality TV show, they’ve already come to terms with themselves being trans. They’ve identified the root causes of what was making them unhappy, and you see them near the end of their journey. We rarely see the beginning - the depression and anxiety caused by the body-brain mismatch and the denial of social roles and expectations for masculine and feminine people, and how trying to be someone you’re not is an exhausting process. And we thought the way to show that is to get cisgender people to experience those feelings - what trans people refer to as gender dysphoria - and see how greatly it affects them.” 

“So,” asked another reporter to Jimmy, “how do you view gender roles in society?” 

Jimmy shrugged. “Honestly, I think they kind of suck.”

Some laughter from the assembled reporters. Jimmy continued.

“Seriously, though. Like, okay, I’m well aware I’m a man, and men, in this society, have it way easier than women. Objectively. Life is much harder for women, and we all know it. And yet, I’ve often thought to myself that the way my own brain works, I could probably actually deal with the harder problems that women face in society better than I usually deal with the much easier problems that men face in society. It’s just silly how we force people to fit into one role or another based on an accident of birth. You know?”

Dead silence. 

After a few moments of this dead silence, Jimmy cleared his throat, and knew he had to clarify what he’s saying. 

“I’m sorry, I hope that doesn’t sound misogynist - as I said, I know women have it harder. But like, men are meant to be stoic, and keep their feelings to themselves. That always made no sense to me. And that we have to be the initiator of romantic relationships. I would love it if a lady came up to me and said they were interested, I mean, men are generally speaking, the biggest threat to women’s safety. So I like women, but I try to be respectful of women, so I have to make sure that a woman is interested before I ask if she’s interested! That’s a hell of catch-22, isn’t it?” 

Jimmy laughed. 

He was the only one. 

“Mr. Howard,” a reporter finally said. “Do you consider yourself to be transgender?”

“No!” said Jimmy, scoffing at the question. “I mean, I think I’d know if I’m transgender, right?” 

And then, Jimmy’s brow went into a deep furrow. “I mean, I would know. I would.”

He looked over to Sam, and in Jimmy’s eyes, Sam could see panic, fear, and confusion.

“Sam?” Jimmy asked, pleadingly. And then Sam knew she needed to pull him the hell out of there. 

“Thank you! No further questions!” said Sam, who dragged Jimmy by the arm back in the house.

***