He turns the television on: it's the end-of-the-year-countdown-special with Laura as the hot guest speaker with everyone fawning over her. As the New Year ball starts to descend down Times Square, the people are not looking at the main attraction. Well, they are. It's Laura, as usual. Legions of autograph books and expensive pens that guarantee no bleeding on the pages are hoisted in the air, and Laura signs a few with a levity and smile of a goddess who spares a few pitying moments to those below her.
He looks outside his window: Laura posters are plastered everywhere for her tour across the world. Unlucky for Roland, this is her last stop. She's touring five continents, stopping by a hundred different countries, and for whatever reason she's stopping in this small city-town for her final performance. Everyone's dressed in her merch, and it's nauseating to not be able to go out without a moment's peace. "Oh, did you see what she wore at the award show? I have to buy something similar...or do you think it's too much? I don't want to copy her too mu-"
"Bitch, you're head-to-toe with Laura's face over you. What do you mean 'too much?'" Roland has growled too many of these imaginary retorts to himself these days as the spite is saturating. In fact, his hate for Laura is so strong, he started an online campaign against her a year ago. Unfortunately, any ill will against Laura or even a whisper of dissent can be an executioner's axe to one's reputation. He's been downvoted on forums until his posts come with a disclaimer warning, his social media accounts keep being hacked, and weird strangers keep frequenting his house to bother him.
It's hard to tell if Roland has schizophrenia; he's been looking to be diagnosed, but every clinic has been rejecting him. He hears voices, but he can't tell if it's just the onslaught of harassment that's been troubling him.
Wait, are you that guy who's been hating on Laura? Shame on you, attacking someone so pure. That's your real sickness, you know: envy.
Yeah, sorry, we can't do much for you now. What you have isn't something we can help.
His doorbell rings with someone snickering "delivery!" Holding a bright red flyswatter, Roland peers through the peephole to see two people dressed like Jehovah Witnesses. They look harmless, but he knows that they must be more of the people conspiring to bother him - break his will so that he'll assimilate into the Laura army and submit himself to the brainless droves of worshippers. A quick flash of the door opening, a few powerful vertical swipes of his swatter at his assailants, and just like that they're gone. They've left two garbage bags next to his door; this has become a common sign to let Roland know that they know who he is.
It's Friday morning and Roland stands on the back of a garbage truck rolling through the suburbs. Long ago his private information was leaked to the public, and now he's at the head of attention as the seemingly sole enemy against Laura. In fact, ironically Roland is sort of a celebrity now too - everyone in town recognizes him as he slowly rolls from street to street and call out to him. But, they are never fully aggressive. In fact, most of his aggressors aren't really aggressive. There is almost a pity for him, that he hasn't fully embraced the joy that Laura brings; there is disdain and coldness to him, but no one has actively done him any harm. At most, only minor inconveniences. When his anti-Laura website, "The Song of Reason," was asked by interviewers to Laura on a talk show, she dramatically clasped her hand and looked to the camera:
"Everyone's entitled to their opinions! Just because Roland Strantz, age 34, garbageman, owner of the hurtful website 'The Song of Reason,' I.P. Address 192.168.17.76, once divorced, no child, doesn't like my music is fine by me! Please everyone, make sure you represent the Laura fandom well and don't target anyone who may have negative views to me!"
The crowd erupted with supportive and loving cheers, and because of that Roland is stuck in a surreal limbo of constant neglect - but no real danger.
As they make their way through the downtown area, Roland's coworker and friend, Powell, sighs at a stop and calls out to Roland who's tossing bags into the back. "Maybe you should just stop the resistance, Roland" Powell advises. "What are you really getting out of all this anyways? People love Laura, and you can't do anything to sway the opinions of billions." The song "I Love Everyone, and Everyone Loves Me" by Laura is playing on the radio, and Roland jumps on the back stand as they start towards a turn.
By the way, here is Laura's most recent discography:
1. I Love Everyone, Everyone Loves Me
2. The World is Mine
3. Who Can Resist Love?
4. I Consume, Therefore I Am
5. I Am Everyone
6. The Cat's In the Bag
7. Sisyphus is Tired
The songs are usually pretty generic drivel that can be easily memorized and catchy in nature, but no one really pays attention to what's being said despite most people knowing the lyrics beat-for-beat. It's like how no one really thinks about how a particularly dirty song is being blasted publicly because the rhythm doesn't really convey that feeling. In fact, most people don't really know what Laura's even singing about half the time - they just know they love it.
But Roland can't believe Powell, a weathered looking and gruff old man of fifty-seven, would be tuning into this modern pop disaster. Powell shrugs and turns the wheel, "well first it was my daughters who got me into this, and I can't say I hate the music. You have to admit, it's pretty catchy." But Roland begs him, every Friday, to think about the old classics of music and how Powell's new playlist as they work has been slowly been dominated by Laura entirely. Where was the jazz he listened to five years ago? The blues and rocks they'd blare at the end of work?
"Come on, you have to get with the times! Can you believe an old geezer like me is telling that to a young feller like you?" Powell gives Roland a pat on the back, but there's a bit too much force in it, as if to say that he needs to make the shift now. The two of them cruise back to the sanitation yard and clock out of work; it's dinnertime, and Roland has a go-to meal.
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There's life out there! I'm sure of it! But you can't explore foreign universes without LIFE - the space food recommended and used by real life scientists. Packed with tons of vitamins and nutrients that will help you in your day to day earthly needs, LIFE will be the key for humanity's eventual journey to space. So what's it going to be? Are you going to the stars to embrace a new life? Or are you staying down with the boring and same old? Rockets, away!
About a year ago, roughly the same time this whole Laura situation occurred, Roland was eating at his regular diner when a snazzy sports car zipped into the parking lot and screeched to a halt. Bad drivers in this area was a pretty common sight, but what wasn't common was a sharp, tall-ish man carrying a briefcase and wearing a sleek suit coming in to a place where he clearly didn't belong...financially. He ordered just a black coffee, as black as the obsidian colored watch and shoes that he adorned onto him. "Yeah, yeah," he kept saying into his cellphone, while occasionally making extra orders such as "some toast, dark on one side and white on the other." The servers found him peculiar, and the families there speculated who he was in whisper. Roland was curious too, chewing into a plate of bacon and eggs; at some point, the man made eye contact with Roland and carried his coffee cup to sit in the other side of the booth with Roland.
"Name's Tommy Zhao, nice to meet you. You look like you're anxious to do something with your life. Look, I'll cut to the chase: I'm pretty sure you're the guy I'm looking for for a job like this. You good with sales?"
"Um, not really," Roland panickily responded with food in his mouth "I don't do sales, just manage garbage."
"See, you're already going door to door. This whole town's yours, isn't it? You know everyone, you know the streets, you know who's making bank and who isn't. You got more business savvy than you think."
"You think so? But I've never actually sold anything before...I mean I used to do fundraisers back in high school."
"How about a new life?"
"Excuse me?"
"LIFE. It's a high nutrition, high vitamin, high everything meal designed to last in space. The stuff never expires and it'll boost your health by the sheer merit of eating it. Think about it, Roland."
"Wait, how'd you know my name?"
"Roland, you're going to get a product that's going to sell itself. And the best part is you've already got all the clients on the way. Think about this: you sell to a few people, those people will obviously tell their friends, and then those friends will tell their friends, et cetera. You've just got to make it big once, and the profits are going to come raining in. Plus, this is a consumable. If you were selling something like a can opener or a vacuum, it's a one and done deal. But LIFE has a life of its own. It's going to keep selling, and you're going to rack in the profits every month without lifting a finger. Let me sign you up for five-hundred units, and I know I'll see you next month for more."
A contract was drawn from Zhou's briefcase almost immediately, and in the heat of the moment Roland felt obliged to take on the deal. It all made sense to him, and he could definitely use the extra cash. It just made sense, and before he knew it a massive truck sat outside his apartment the next day with boxes and boxes of LIFE. Not realizing the food was perishable, Roland had to buy some additional freezers to hold onto the food. But it was all going to be fine - he would be done with the package in maybe a week or two. Even on the merit of curiosity, someone was going to buy it...
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Opening a massive freezer in the corner of his room, Roland draws out another box of LIFE to heat up and eat. Surprisingly, a year goes by fast when you don't think about the scam you bought yourself into; more surprising, he was down to his last boxes of LIFE. "I'll kind of miss the flavor," Roland sighed to himself peeling the plastic film off before microwaving. Surely this life of his, being an outcast, must be a sort of conspiracy against him. It's hard to tell when things went wrong in life, but he believes that it must have happened in more recent times. Schooling was fine, he's held multiple odd jobs that all paid alright, he was married at one point, and while ordinary it was all fine. The microwave dings, and he pulls out the food while the sound of the television plays in the background. It's Laura, finishing up her recent tour in Texas and holding up a massive beef rib to the shutter of paparazzi cameras lighting up her whole face. The flashes don't affect her, which is odd considering how irritating that much stimulation of brightness would cause. There's almost a sharpness to her face in each brief moment of darkness, as if she is rigid like a work of cubism. Without blinking, Laura stares into the live camera and starts to announce her tour's next stop.
"Yeehaw, thanks for all the support everyone! I reckon ya'll enjoyed your time at the concert last night! So, there are only two more places before I finish my tour...now now, don't cry! Laura will host another world tour sooner than you think! When my next album drops, I'm fixing to come back here!"
"A hundred ninety..." Roland whispered to himself. "She didn't blink for nearly two minutes..." He started recording the live interview and replayed it back a few times to keep an eye on whether Laura ever blinked in the entire show. To his concern, she never did.