Recently, my roommate Dibya was involved in a horrific car accident. Fortunately, he survived the crash, but—as is commonplace when one is ejected thirty-odd feet through the side window of a speeding Subaru—he also sustained several serious injuries.
Word spread quickly around town, and countless concerned citizens have approached me to enquire about his condition. While most of these individuals heard of Dibya's crash, few were aware of its severity or know the extent of his injuries. Thus, over the past week, I've become Dibya's de facto press agent.
The daily pressure of accurately conveying Dibya's suffering to the curious public is immensely important to me. Among his myriad injuries is one broken left ankle that makes movement somewhat unappealing to the man. Rather than hobble around, he mostly stays home and drinks food through a straw. Did I mention he broke his jaw in three different places and is on a liquid diet?
Since Dibya can hardly get out his bedroom, let alone our apartment building, I'm basically his singular voice on campus. If you have questions about Dibya, I probably have the answers.
Luckily for him, I'm prepared for the task. A few summers ago, I did public relations work for a local politician, so I'm well-versed in the art of taking a supposedly gloomy circumstance and turning it into something altogether cheerful. In the business—and when I say ""the business"" I am, of course, referring to what is more commonly known as ""the industry""—we call this craft ""spinning.""
Take, for example, Dibya's ailing left foot. This item is technically still attached to the rest of his body, but when an acquaintance asks, ""How's Dibya doing?"" I might respond, ""Well, his left foot was severed from his body. Fortunately, the doctor was able to replace it with a high-tech robo-foot.""
Such a response is technically ""a lie."" But within the context of the PR business, it's a spin. Just consider the windfall of Dibya's perceived cyborg-ization. Would you mess with a cyborg? I certainly wouldn't.
Earlier, I mentioned Dibya's inability to eat solid food, as his mouth is wired shut with extremely shiny metal. Generally, this might be considered an inconvenience. That's because typically, people aren't spin masters. I see great potential in Dibya's food-related tribulations. Obviously, a mouth full of steel mechanics plays very well into the promotion of the cyborg mystique, but it's useful for other reasons as well.
I think the time is just right for a new fad diet. Atkins, South Beach, and laxatives smack of 2003. The all-liquid Dibya Diet (patent pending) is the new wave in weight loss.
According to his doctor, he stands to lose upwards of 10 pounds. That's nice, but for the sake of his publicity campaign, I might bump that up to 15. I mean, the people need to see results. Also, if reports of a more svelte Dibya spread, he might emerge from his recovery to find a horde of interested females vying for his attention. Like ""The Bachelor"" but more gimpy.
Ultimately, it's my job to keep my client happy. That means quashing damaging rumors—contrary to false reports, Dibya does indeed possess a full set of teeth—and brainstorming other potential publicity campaigns. Admittedly, most of these scenarios involve Dibya's transformation into a cyborg, but I'm hoping to diversify in the near future.
Regardless of where those ventures take Dibya, me, and world-at-large in the days and weeks to come, I can assure you two things right now: (1) Dibya is recovering nicely and is in good spirits, and (2) He is not a cyborg... yet.
