Jared was already tackling the idea that he had accidentally sold his soul when he read in the newspaper that his appointment to Vice President of Strategic Communications at the University was the “high point in his career.” He couldn't suppress the fear that someone who reached a high point might just be starting a descent to the bottom.
He drank straight from a bottle of bourbon rather than pouring his customary highball and then he started a hand-written letter to the university president. The same man who had told him his office was always open, but neglected to mention that it would always be empty. The one who instructed the virtues of strategic communication and suggested Jared began practicing the art of saying 'no comment' without actually using the words 'no' or 'comment.'
Jared stopped writing the note and took another swig. He couldn't concentrate, so he powered on his laptop for a short escape he hoped would end in pulling his shit together. The communicator who was paid to not make comments visited the social media website.
The first post he read was from Tracy, the soon to be ex-wife of a former colleague. The post announced Tracy's support for extreme narcissism and claimed that your life is your own movie and every single person, including the ones who love you, the ones you gave birth to, are all “bit” players with the sole purpose to support the advancement of you the protagonist.
Jared had to comment.
“Tracy, congratulations on your new outlook. It made me remember I only kept you as a friend because you're kind of good looking and your ex-husband is an asshole. I no longer need the services of you as a bit player in my life. Go fuck yourself. Love, Jared.”
The second post he read was from Duane, the husband of Jared's cousin Mike. Duane had decided the most important cause we all should rally around was the plague of mothers breast feeding in restaurants.
Jared had to comment.
“Duane, I thought we had come a long way. Just last month, when I shared your post about the legalization of gay marriage, it helped you get another hundred likes. It now saddens me to hear of your concern for what someone else might be doing under a blanket. Go fuck yourself. Love, Jared.”
He closed the laptop and knew how to complete the letter to the president.
“To the one who has given me the direction to always communicate nothing at the same time I always communicate something. To the one who told me my real job was to be a firewall and make sure no real information gets in or out. To schmooze the press so they give up their silly fascination with the truth. You sir are an idiot and have probably sold your soul for far too high a price. The devil was robbed. Go fuck yourself. Love, Jared.”