Sean fully admits that their display is roofless "crap," and worries that Jay and Stephen will exclaim, hands aflutter and eyelashes batting, maybe a little shadowboxing in there, "What the bloody hell is this?" His Jay and Stephen impression needs work, because apparently he thinks they're effete and smarmy British dandies...what? Oh, I see what you're saying. Yeah, you're right. Never mind, my bad. Lots of shots of the wrap sagging and buckling and gapping and melting and falling and showing its ass and wires all on the floor and bowing under the weight of its own hideousness. Frankly, yours truly is worried, because really what I want is for Lee and Sean to win this one, over the shit design and total dysfunction of Synergy, and I'm afraid that their inability to produce something that doesn't actually hurt to look at is a valid failure. Surely, I'm saying, there's a way to make that not look shitty. Perhaps it's my own obsession with presentation talking, but throw Tarek at that -- for example -- or Alla, and I think they'd make it work. It's a particular kind of failure, and sign of immature lack of professionalism, that they can't toss together a viable alternative here. Nobody told them to wait until the last second. On the other hand, if either of them understood the concept of first impressions, or second ones, or n+1 ones, they would be very different themselves, so I can't blame them exactly. I just like pretty stuff, because pretty is commercial, and commercial feels good, and I like to feel good.
Jay and Stephen are wacky poker-faced as Lee and Sean tour the wreckage with them, leading them first around the hideous signage to show them the dangerously coiled and hideous cords poking out all over and sparking intermittently, and then around the corner to show the places where the wrap has cigarette holes and graffiti, piles of broken glass and piso mojado puddles that smell like urine. The body of an old hobo curled up under a satellite dish with newspaper circulars for his duvet. Tom Cruise jumping up and down on the broken pieces of a flat-screen monitor, the small community of refugees making their temporary home near the office furniture area, the slideshow of Jack Black's boudoir photographs running on one screen. Story Hour With Omarosa Manigault-Stallworth in one corner, where she's reading to the children from Tropic Of Cancer and Burroughs' Queer while passing around a joint of hash laced with PCP. It's bad, son.