Tonight Dick accompanied me on patrol to help with a minor investigation. He sat on my shoulders and pretended my Bat-ears were joysticks. I saw some of the officers laughing at me. I hid away in the shadows. I am a phantom.
Dick wanted McDonalds on the way home. I said no, because we have chicken nuggets in the freezer. He bullied me until I relented and we both got Happy Meals. I asked for no onions. I got extra onions. The toys were Sonic the Hedgehog themed. I wanted Shadow. I got Tails. Dick would not trade with me.
Bruce finished his journal entry and shoved the notebook away with a sigh. His phone was buzzing again and he recoiled. What did Michelle want now? He stared at the screen until the call went to voicemail and grimaced when he saw a number of texts popping up.
Michelle (PR): Mr. Wayne it’s time for your weekly social media engagement.
Michelle (PR): As per my last email, please try to be more friendly this time. Even though last week’s tweet went viral, it didn’t give a very friendly impression. No one knows if you were joking or not when you said “Don’t talk to me.” That’s one of the no-nos I was talking about.
Michelle (PR): I know you’re screening my calls. I know you’re awake.
Michelle (PR): Please just share something pleasant about yourself. A hobby (golf, polo), art you like (nothing risque or controversial), something you ate/cooked. Focus on *common interests.*
Michelle (PR): I look forward to reading your next tweet! :)
Bruce blinked at his phone. Fine, he would share one of his interests.
It was almost three in the afternoon–way too early for a Bat to be awake–and his phone kept waking him out of his half-sleep. Exhausted, he rolled over and poked at it.
“Hn.”
“Mr. Wayne. It’s Michelle.”
Ohno. His PR manager. Once Bruce had decided to take a more active role in the company, the board had bullied him into working on his public image with Michelle, a very experienced and very highly recommended PR specialist. She’d been unsuccessfully trying to get him on social media lately. He knew why she was calling.
“Yeah,” he rasped into the phone.
“Mr. Wayne. How are you? Good, good. I’m,” she clicked her tongue, “glad to see that you’ve decided to use social media. It seems like the, ah, Gray Ghoul-”
“GrayGhost.”Ugh.
“-Gray Ghost show really caught your attention, didn’t it? I was just hoping we could brainstorm for a bit about your intentions on social media, Twitter etiquette, the brand you want to cultivate, et cetera. You know, to avoid any whoopsies.”
Bruce wanted to crawl down to the cave and hide with his bat friends and never speak to a human ever again. “Whoopsies,” he whispered.
“Oh, you know,” she laughed too loudly, “saying things that might affect your public image. We don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you. We want you to be as charming as possible.”
Bruce slid on a pair of sunglasses and slumped out of his bedroom down to the kitchen. His bare feet were cold against the ornate wooden floor. Alfred was fussing over the stove making French toast, Dick doing a handstand on the counter beside him. Status quo.
“Charming,” he echoed. Dick looked over to him and beamed.
“Yes, Mr. Wayne, now you might want to take notes…”
Bruce was subjected to forty seven minutes of Twitter no-nos and building his brand andhow to endear himself to the public. Once he finally managed to bring the conversation to an end, Michelle urged him to tweet something nice. “Something befitting of Gotham’s Prince,” she trilled. “Set an expectation, Mr. Wayne.”
Bruce ended the call.
“Holy long phone call, Batman!” Dick exclaimed. “Wanna go play Mario Kart with me? We don’t have to talk.”
“Sure,” Bruce murmured. “Just a minute.”
He opened Twitter on his phone, ignoring all the notifications he’d received, and drafted a post. He sent the Tweet and turned his phone completely off, allowing Dick to lead him to the newly appointed game room.
