The List Read Online Free PDF Page A

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     characters and be written with search engines in mind. So keep them boring, but fun.
     Be creative, but not edgy. Always use a neutral voice, but try not to make it a total
     yawn. Inspire, but never with bias. Remember, you can’t do or say anything politically
     charged outside the office. You can’t campaign, you can’t donate, and you can’t wear
     any T-shirts or buttons printed with political slogans.” She looked at my outfit,made almost entirely of Mongolian cashmere, and added, “not that you look like the
     Newt Gingrich T-shirt type . . . Oh! and I’ll expect you to file at least one thing
     today. Two would be better. Three would be best. Sound good?”
    I smiled and nodded, trying to look like this was exactly what I’d expected. Like
     it was perfectly normal to rig a BlackBerry so it never turned off. And who didn’t
     want to write ten articles a day? I was clearly going to thrive at this place. I mentally
     revised my list of prepared questions, dropping the ones about whether the paper had
     a car service or a cappuccino machine.
    Keeping her eyes not on me but on her computer, where she was simultaneously editing
     a short piece on Senator Kirsten Gillibrand’s remarkable weight loss, Rachel kept
     talking. “I don’t know if I told you already, but we start at five A.M. every day. This means you’re writing at five A.M. , not waking up or looking for things to write about. And you’re on email and on your
     phone and able to do interviews in different time zones if you have to. If you need
     time to find news, get up earlier. And you have to be on call on Sundays. You’ll get
     used to it, don’t worry.”
    She finally looked up at me, smiled sincerely, and pointed to the far wall. Like all
     the others, it said THE CAPITOLIST and had two short rows of flat-screen TVs hanging on it. “Your desk is at the end
     of the hall. The one under the TV that always plays CNN. Don’t even think about changing
     the channel. You’ll ignite a revolution. The IT guys should be there in a few minutes
     to set you up. Three minutes, actually.” She turned back to her monitor, away from
     my bright, shiny, confused face, and said, “Better get walking. Oh . . . and good
     luck.” I scurried off lest I miss the punctual IT patrol.
    Although my heart was toying with the possibility of cardiac arrest, my mind had grown
     surprisingly calm. I could definitely do this. I could be the kind of person who never
     slept, drankventi espressos, and stalked politicians for sport. Why not! I went to Wellesley College,
     a school that produced Hillary frigging Clinton. I was up to the task. I was not intimidated
     at all. And no, she hadn’t told me about the 5 A.M. start time. Must have slipped her dazzlingly acute mind.
    As I sprinted to the back of the newsroom, a man with a safari hat stuck to his sweaty
     head ran past my empty desk. He clutched a tape recorder playing something and two
     BlackBerrys. His round tortoiseshell glasses bounced around on his nose like a cowboy
     atop a bronco.
    I must have stared for an unnaturally long time, because a girl with hair the color
     of India ink felt free to look me over rather unsubtly. Then, like an actual human
     being, she smiled and spoke. I almost kissed the hem of her dress; she might as well
     have been the Dalai Lama, as far as I was concerned.
    “That’s David Bush. No relation. He always wears a safari hat, unless he’s on TV,
     which is often,” she said, crossing her muscular legs.
    Naturally. Like Bindi the Jungle Girl.
    I smiled and started to introduce myself, but she interrupted me with a wave of her
     thin hand. “He’s quirky, but he’s nice and he’s a genius and they love him. Worship
     him. He writes the Morning List. It’s like the Bible, but with bullet points. You better read it every single day
     the second it goes to print. We get it five minutes before the rest of the world,
     so read it then. He writes it three