The Rise of Don Peso

Some years ago (never mind how many) I was a bright-eyed college graduate who got his first job in the fun and exciting world of television news. After four years of collegiate training, studying and winning awards, young Duff was ready to prove himself as the finest part-time tape operator that market 120 had ever seen.

My first experience as a paid employee of a newsroom was both strange and intimidating. As a tape-op, I hung out in the back with the photogs all day, and they were quite a rag-tag gang. There was a guy named Kash, and for several weeks I had assumed that I'd misheard his name, because who the hell would call himself Kash? There was this guy I went to college with, but who I never met, along with some dude that never talked to me. At the far end of the edit bays, there sat some douchebag that either made fun of me or ignored me. And finally, the guy who ruled over this wily bunch was some jackass who always seemed to be angry. Indeed, I had found myself in a strange and foreign place.

With time (and it definitely took a while), they accepted me as one of their own. Within a month or two, I became an (actually the only) editor, and a short time later, I ascended to the sacred rank of PHOTOG.

However, this tale is not about me.

This story focuses on that douchebag that sat at the end of the edit bays.

He went by the name of Peso. A fellow Oregon alumni and Bay Area native, he had been at the station for many years before my arrival. Over time, through a constant matching of berating insults, he earned my respect... which is to say he stopped making fun of me for being the tape-op. For that, I respected him.

A year and many months passed since my arrival, and the rowdy leader of the pack, the audaciously named El Guapo, declared that it was time for him to leave us in order to take control at a station in his native land of Sacramento. He was not missed. However, in his absence, the photog staff erupted into chaos.

During a brief-yet-violent upheaval, Peso attempted to take control of the photog staff, but lost the position to a man known only as Lil' Richter. A short time later, Lil' Richter mysteriously disappeared and the position was dissolved.

Peso was crushed, as it had been his dream to rule over a kickass team of photogs. In the coming months, the newsroom fell into a downward spiral of anarchy, as no one had been assigned the tasks of the former chief photog (whoops!) and given the current anarchical state, nobody was about to point out that fact. During this time, Peso came to understand what it takes to become a great leader.

A month or two later, Guapo recruited Peso to his newly acquired gang, and Peso broke his sworn oath with the crew that had raised him into the mighty news soldier that he had become. He left for the city of Sacramento to join a new family.

Without a leader, the numbers within the old crew slowly dwindled. Word had gotten out that the once mighty Sleezy Keezy photog staff was parting ways, and offers came from various other establishments in an effort to recruit Eugene's finest. I myself was lured to Guapo's Sacramento crew. Once again, I was met with Peso.

Since our last encounter, Peso had made a name for himself as a go-to guy; someone who could really get things done. You got a thing that needs dealing with? Peso will handle it. In the short time since I'd seen the two, Peso had become Guapo's Right Hand Man.

Since I was just the morning show newbie, I kept quiet about the dealings that I saw going down, but it was clear that they were running a top-notch ring.

However, it wasn't long before the pressures of running an international crime syndicate... I mean "photog staff"... got to Guapo. Heat from the Feds and various other organizations eventually forced Guapo to flee back to the motherland of Eugene, leaving command of his gang up for the taking.

This time, Peso wasn't about to take no for an answer.

With an iron fist and a pack of rabid dogs, Peso seized control of the gang, declaring himself the new Don of Sacramento.

Today, Don Peso walks the streets of Fruitridge with a newfound respect. At every street corner, little hobo children and hookers run up to him and say, in a hilarious Italian accent, "Don Peso, I bring you the finest malt liquor in all the land," or "Don Peso, I bake you this donut, a-fresh for you!"

There's a new boss in this town, so you'd better pay up your bribes while you can. And don't forget to ask him for a favor on the day of his daughter's wedding.

Welcome to the big time, Don Peso. Now give me a goddamn raise.