One of our jobs at The Naughty American is to promote the party to the Chicago media. It’s been a tough sell at times.
We’ve e-mailed a bunch of mainstream publications – radio, TV, and print outlets – and pitched them on why they should cover our little event. Most don’t get back to us, which is OK, while others reply with polite rejection, also OK.
Then there’s the woman at a Chicago radio station who felt the need to reply with a stinging rebuke. Eh, not so OK.
I e-mailed her a polite pitch, along with an offer for her or her colleagues to interview any of the eight porn celebrities, and she got back to me, rather quickly, with the following:“We are a legitimate new organization, why we would we ever want to interview porn stars…please remove us from your mailing list immediately. Thanks.”
Well, fuck me!
No salutation, no signature, and this coming from an editor and representative of a supposedly objective news organization. I decided I’d see whether this was the sort of correspondence the honchos at the radio station approved of.
I wrote back:“Dear Ms. [redacted],
As someone who represents a “legitimate” news organization, your punctuation, grammar and public relations skills leave a lot to be desired. Are you actually paid to write the type of response you furnished, or are you an unpaid intern?
If you’d like me to answer your rhetorical question, I’d be happy to: You may want to interview porn stars coming to Chicago for the same reason you interview sports and entertainment celebrities visiting Chicago. These people have a following – and a particularly large one in your town.
Perhaps you’d better serve your listeners if you checked your prejudices at the door.
Leopard J. Ferry
The Naughty American”
Oh, and I cc’d five of her co-workers.
Then I sat back and waited for the fun to start. Twenty minutes later our receptionist called.
“There’s a Ms. XXXX from Chicago on line 4,” she said.
And with that, the game was afoot!
“Ms. XXXX, how can I help you?” I began.
“I just received a very rude e-mail from you,” she sniffed.
“That’s ironic,” I replied, “because—”
“And who DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, embarrassing me in front of my co-workers!”
For the next ten minutes we debated the semantics of our e-mails and the news-worthiness of a porn party. Truth is, we bickered like a married couple. I was mildly turned on, but we never had the make-up sex. I might have to look her up when I get to Chicago.