Food in a Radio Station

In the radio broadcast industry, food is king.
If you want to say thank you to a DJ, drop off a box of donuts or cookies.
If you are holding a media conference or promotional event and you want the media to show up, serve food.  In fact, set up a roped off media area and put food in it to corral your reporters.

Food is king.

Following are several food stories from my years in radio. 
All are true.
I didn't realize just how much food played into my (I hate) radio experience until I started writing.

The first story was my first lesson in radio food.
It's the world's most perfect "radio food" illustration.
Now, after having spent years in the industry working with many different personalities at multiple radio stations, I don't know how I ever could have expected anything different to happen to my pizza.

***

The shift I held at my first radio job was 5pm to midnight.  While everyone else was heading home to dinner, I was just starting my work day.  Some days I would grab a bag of drive-thru on my way to the studio and eat it while I worked, but a lot of nights I ordered from a local pizza/sandwich place that delivered anything on their menu.  I called them so often that they knew by heart the specific way I'd order my sandwich.  And they'd sometimes draw pictures on the box.
One night, I ordered a pizza.
"You must have company," the sandwich guy remarked over the phone.
"Oh.  No, that's just the radio you hear in the background."
"No, it's not that.  You just usually order one sandwich.  I thought maybe you had friends today."
"Oh. No.  Just me.  I felt like pizza.  I probably won't call tomorrow though, because I'll have pizza leftovers."

I think that was the night it dawned on me that I had no friends.

The pizza arrived.
I enjoyed several slices and put the box of leftovers in the breakroom fridge.
The next day, I bypassed the fast food places knowing I had most of a pizza already waiting for me.

But when I got to the studio, the pizza box was missing from the refrigerator.
It was crushed in the trash can.  Empty.
I searched the fridge thinking someone had put the leftover pieces in another, smaller container, but I could find no trace of my pizza.  MORE THAN HALF a leftover pizza.

I grabbed the office manager before she left for the day.
"Hey, I left a pizza in the fridge last night..."
"Oh!  That was you?  Thank you!  It was delicious!"

"I... what?  You ate it?"
"Well, we all ate it.  It was there."  Matter of fact.  The same way you'd say, It rained; of course the ground is wet.
"But, I bought it.  Did anyone leave me money?"
"Honey.  If you leave food in a radio station, people are going to eat it."

It was a sh!t answer, but I would witness time and again that it was absolutely true.

 ***

At the second radio station that hired me, there was a soda vending machine.  It was unique because it was built like a chest freezer rather than a stand-up model.  You had to lift the lid to view your choices, and the can was dispensed sideways to an access panel where you could lift it out.

Every morning, I'd lift the lid to find a Diet Coke sitting on top of the display.

Diet Coke was not one of the options available for purchase, but there was one can there every day.
I ignored it for a good long time, however one day I really wanted a Diet Coke, and it was still sitting there when I opened the machine.  So, I left my coins where the Diet Coke can had been, and I took it.

The next day, there was a memo about the soda machine and how employees were not allowed to take cans that weren't for sale.
As I read the memo at my desk, the guy at the next desk leaned over and quietly told me that the office manager had come into our office the day before and had seen the can of Diet Coke opened on my desk.
According to him, she had been livid.  Apparently, she brought Diet Coke from home everyday because she couldn't buy one in the machine.  She always put it in the vending machine to keep it cold.

Two things:
1)  She didn't need to write an all-staff memo.  She had seen the can on my desk.  She knew I had taken it.  She could have and should have just talked to me about it.  Personally.  And right away rather than a day later.
2)  If she wanted to keep her soda cold, she should have put it in the staff refrigerator and/or put her name on it.

***

I walked into the break room and found a fellow co-worker pawing through a plastic grocery bag filled with loose Easter candy.
"Anything good in there?" I asked.
"Well, considering it's Easter candy and it's close to Halloween, I'm not sure what you'd consider 'good'."
"Point taken."
"Yet, I apparently have no problem eating it."
"Yes.  Radio people will eat anything that's free."
He pondered that for a moment and remarked, "You know, if you wanted to take out an entire media company with one fell swoop, all you'd have to do is leave tampered food in the break room."
"That's why no one eats the homemade cookies that the one listener keeps bringing."
"Oh.  Those get eaten, too.  Mostly by sales people who don't know what listeners are like."

***

On the subject of listener food...
One of my listeners had a mad crush on me and was not swayed by the very public fact that I was married.  One day he brought a Subway sandwich to the station as an excuse to meet me.
The receptionist tracked me down and insisted I come to the front desk and talk to the man to get him away from her.  So I went, politely accepted the package and thanked him for it.
"Aren't you going to eat it?  Sit down for a minute and have lunch with me!"  (He hadn't brought a sub for himself.)
I explained that I couldn't visit because I was in the middle of an on-air shift.  I would have to eat it later.  He was crestfallen, but he said he understood.
After he left, I dumped the sub in the trash.

Sorry.  There's nothing more suspicious than someone who looks that excited to watch you eat something that he's not going to take a bite of.

***

The afternoon news woman had accepted a pretty cool job across town doing public relations for a charity.  On her last day at the radio station, there was a giant "Good Luck, Beth" cake.
That's right, there was a giant cake.

By the time Beth came in for her afternoon shift, all that was left of her going away cake was an odd shaped piece that said, "Beth".
"Uh.  Gee.  Thanks for the cake."  She did air-quotes for "cake".

What a shame cake is a breakfast food that couldn't have been brought in later in the day, like, say, after lunch when Beth could have actually felt it had been for her.

***

At one radio station, the program director often invited my morning co-host to lunch, but they never invited me along.  When I mentioned that I'd like to be included, they explained that my schedule rarely allowed me to go when they wanted to go.  For some reason, going at a time when I was free never occurred to either of them.  Sometimes they'd bring their food back to the station and eat it in front of me. 
I suggested, "Hey, the next time you're going to bring food here, I could give you money to bring me something."  So... they stopped bringing food back to the office.

One day, the sister station's program director invited me to lunch.
He said he and my PD and my morning show partner were all going to Dairy Queen.  "You should meet us there when you're done with production."
Awesome!  Yay!  I get to go to lunch!
After my work was done, I hopped in my car and drove across town to the Dairy Queen.  On my way, I saw a car that looked like my program director's car at another restaurant on the strip.  As I passed, I saw the three of them sitting at a table in the front window.  On my way to Dairy Queen.
I turned around, drove back to this other restaurant and went inside.
"Hey!  There she is!  We didn't think you were coming!"
"You told me Dairy Queen."
"Oh yeah.  We changed our minds."

It's really hard not to take some things personally, you know?

***

Same radio station.
I'm on the air when my program director comes around and says the boss is buying everyone sundaes.  Do I want one?  Yes, I do!
I do a chair dance while the music plays, and after a time I spy the boss carrying bags of sundaes through the building and co-workers following him to the breakroom.  The program director walks past the studio window and gives me a "Hey, look!" gesture.  And I nod back.
I wait.
And wait.
And wait.

No one brings me a sundae.
Finally, I line up a string of music and run to the breakroom.  Everyone is sitting around a table filled with empty sundae cups.  "Hey," I say. "I wanted one."
The PD points.  "There's yours. We were gonna eat it because you didn't come for it.  But it's melted and no one wants it anymore."
"I thought someone would bring it to me.  You know, because I was working."

When I finally quit that job, *I* was the "bitchy one".
I wonder why.

***

The Husband and I worked mornings together for a while in a small town station located in the middle of a cornfield.  One day as we drove along the dark country road, I wondered aloud if any of the muffins that a client had brought the day before were still left in the breakroom.  (Yup, they had been a thank you gift!)  The Husband said I should go look first thing when we got to work and if I'd bring him one, he'd get our show prep started without me.
We were the first people to arrive every morning, so the building was dark when we got there. The Husband headed for the studio, and I walked to where the fridge and microwave were lined up on one side of the widest part of a long hallway.  The light switch was on the far end of the hallway, but I knew my way around well enough I didn't need it.  In the dim morning light, I could see the package of muffins on the cupboard.
Yay!

Moments later, when I entered the studio, The Husband eagerly wanted to know, "Were there any left?"
"Yeah," I told him.  "There were half a dozen.  But when I reached over to grab a couple, one of them jumped down and ran behind the fridge."

It had been a mouse.
I threw the whole package away.
I guess radio people *do* have some standards.

The Most Frightening Radio Trivia Contest Ever

I have friends who do not understand why working in radio has made me a paranoid freak and overly protective of my private life and on-line privacy.  It's okay.  There are times I think I'm a bit over the top about it myself.

But then I remember stories like this one, and I understand that even when I might be at fault for revealing more about myself than I realize, listeners behave like scary creepers way more often than they realize.

***

It was the late 1990's, and I was sent to Morning Show Boot Camp with my co-host.
We met lots of other radio morning show hosts and their producers.  One fellow we met was interesting, but I remember only two things about him:
1)  He liked to introduce himself to young women using the name of another, more famous, radio DJ.  And way too many women believed him and then slept with him.
2)  He told us the story of the most frightening radio trivia contest ever.

He started the story by describing a woman who identified herself as his biggest fan. This woman showed up at every remote broadcast this guy hosted. She smelled of alcohol from across the room, he told us, the kind of smell that seeps out of a person's pores after days of imbibing.
His biggest fan, she was.

One night, she showed up at the radio station. He didn't want to let her in, but he also didn't want to be rude. Also, he was in the middle of an air shift and couldn't afford to spend much time finessing a polite dismissal. She had never acted inappropriately; she was just a drunk lady who probably had no real friends aside from the people she listened to on the radio. She said she had something to give to him. 

"That should have been a sign," he told us, "But I let her in anyway."
He led her to the studio, because he had to segue the next song. The whole time he was thinking that now he was trapped, and he was alone, and she would probably never take a hint that she'd need to leave as soon as he'd like her to.
The gift she had for him was a stack of paper. She had written questions for a trivia contest.

The entire list of questions were about him.
One of the questions was "What color is the wastebasket in (this radio dj)'s bathroom?"

He was horrified!  This woman had never been in his house.
Or, had she?

She explained.
It had taken her most of a year of listening to his show, but she felt she'd done a good job.  If anyone else had been paying attention as closely as she had, they'd all know the answers because the questions were all based on things he had mentioned on the air at one point or another.
And he realized that, yes, he had talked about buying a bathroom wastebasket on the air months earlier because he had made a big fuss over how many places he had to look to find a basket in a color that matched his bathroom... green.

So, it had not been the creepy encounter that it had at first appeared to be, but he never ever invited anyone into the radio station after hours after that, no matter how big of a fan they might have been.

Radio Music Programming

In "old" times (1970-90s), radio music directors and DJs were instructed to never, ever play two female artists back-to-back on the air.  It was one of those unspoken rules.  Because there were so few songs with lead female singers, it was best to space them out.  You know, the same way you wouldn't play two instrumental songs back-to-back. 
"Chariots of Fire and Axel F?  Keep those at least an hour apart, 'k?"

At the turn of the millennium, female artists became more popular.  By the time Katy Perry and Britney Spears took over, the "no two females in a row" rule had to be thrown out.  There were just too many females to NOT play them back-to-back... and often.

Today, the challenge is to keep two Taylor Swift songs from playing back-to-back.

Holy cow, that woman is talented and busy.

Not. Enough. Money...

The radio station I left two years ago occasionally calls to ask if I can record commercials for them.  When I worked there, I was the only female announcer to do commercials, and they haven't hired any new female announcers since.
It doesn't happen often because it's a little awkward being having me there.
They start out offering me money to do it, then tell me who the client is.

Last week, I got another one of these calls.
"...wondering if you'd be willing to come in to record an ad.  We'd pay you.  It's for a political candidate."

When I worked at the station, it didn't matter what the subject matter was, I was required to record it as part of my job duties.  No questions.
But, they don't pay my salary anymore...

"Who's the candidate?" I want to know.

Omg, you guys.
It was this guy.

I said no.
In fact, my exact words were, "Oh hell, no."

There's not enough money, folks.  Wow.

Studies (a.k.a. Like a Moth to the Flame)

Earlier this week I had spent several hours at a local radio station learning a few things so that I (in addition to my full time job outside of radio) can be their emergency fill-in DJ.

::pauses to answer the question that is twisting up your face::

I know.  I know.
"Roses, you whined and cried and screamed about how you HATED, just hated, your crappy radio job.  And now, not even six full months after scratching and clawing your way out of it, you're training to get back into radio?  What gives?"

My friend, if you ever get to know a "radio person" (and you have, because you know me), you will learn that you can take a gal out of radio, but you will never take radio out of a gal.  No matter what I do for a living, I am a radio person.  Through and through.  Always and forever.  No lie.
This means that no matter how bad we hated, just hated, our last radio job, we cannot turn down the offer of another one.  Especially if we didn't go looking for it.  Especially if a station says, "OMG!  You're available?  WE WANT YOU!"  (Which is exactly what happened to me.)

The same way a moth will fly into an open flame and certain death, a radio person will return to radio if the opportunity presents itself.
Like a moth to the flame.

Can I get a radio brother or sister to testify?

::gets back to funny::

So, now I am sitting at the kitchen table rewriting my notes as Elder Son sits across from me studying for exams.  Every once in a while he stops what he is doing to watch me.
"I'm studying, too," I tell him.  "I had a three hour class today."
He considers my history, and he states, "Yeah, but it's all review, right?"

I love that kid.

The One With the Windows...

Thanks for the well wishes on my new job, everybody! It's been really great so far!

On Monday I remarked to The Husband, "Hey, did you know the sun shines all day?  I've never seen that on a weekday before."

On Tuesday I remarked to The Husband, "The sun was shining all day long again!"

On Wednesday, it rained.
I remarked to The Husband, "Even on an overcast day, the sun shines.  All day."

I love my windows.

I love that I have co-workers and not just a faceless audience that I can only imagine is listening.

I love that I can get up and use the bathroom any dang time I wanna, and I don't have to wait for the five-minute news break once an hour so I have enough time to run there, take care of business, and run back before I have to push a button.

I kinda love my new job.

Hey, at least he asked for permission first.

The topic was movies, and one of our regular listeners phoned.

"Hey, Roses," he said as I screened the call.  "Can I say 'crap' on the air?  Because that's what most movies are nowadays."
I thought a moment.  "I think it's okay as an adjective, John.  But not as a verb."

Things I actually *like* about my job (#1-4)

I think I've given some of you the impression that I don't like my job much.
So, I've started a list:

Things I Actually Like About My Job

1)  How the New Guy acts out the commercials while he waits in the news booth for his turn to speak.  (One afternoon, we both mimed drinking sour milk out of our travel mugs and I ended up inhaling water and gagging for real.)  And there was that one day when we were listening to the story about the guy who was forgotten in a jail cell for five days and had to drink his own urine... and the New Guy just happened to be drinking apple juice at the very same moment.  That was kinda funny.

2)  The genuine appreciation from local non-profits when I call them up and tell them I want to make a public service feature to promote their fundraising events.  I feel like I have a purpose.  I feel like I've really made a difference.

3)  How I can tell someone my name and where I work, and they know exactly who I am and they like me even though we've never met before.

4)  The quiz I play in the afternoon has been more interesting lately since I started using Facebook to give listeners a choice of which prize I'll give away.  How sad is it that a radio personality gets more satisfaction from playing with listeners on Facebook than she gets from being on the radio?  (Hint:  It's very, very sad.)


Huh.
I thought there'd be more things.
I really did.

I can't even count the first one.  That's someONE I like about my job and certain events that happened at my job, and they have very little to do with my actual job.
The third one is radio general, not job specific.  So, I technically shouldn't count that one, either.
And that last one is just pathetic, really.

Well, crap.

This was intended to be the first of an on-going series of posts, like the "Things I Don't Miss About Living with the Mother-in-Law".
Huh.
I just might be done right here.

Triffle with me, will ya?

I received an e-mail from a saleswoman account representative yesterday.  It was forwarded from a client for whom I had recorded a commercial.  It read:

"Sounds good except for Roses' voice... tell her I said that.  :-)"

I know this client pretty well.  He's been into the station several times, and we get along just fine.
"You know," I told his saleswoman account rep, "I'm tempted to re-cut his ad in a really goofy voice."
"DO IT!"

So, now we're waiting to hear his reaction to the uber-redneck version I sent.
;-)

The New Guy

The Husband says the new guy in his department reminds him a lot of Elder Son.
I can see that.  He's quiet, but funny when it counts.
Kinda like my dad.  He is usually quiet unless he has something funny to say.

We invited New Guy to see The Hunger Games at the theater with us and a big group of friends.  I was a little concerned when Elder Son ended up at the end of the row with only New Guy to talk to.  But, no worries... I glanced down to see which one of them was more uncomfortable sitting next to the other, and they were chatting animatedly about movies and film making.
Like old chums. 

***

After harassing New Guy at work, I tried to wave it off by telling him that The Husband and I harass our children in the same manner at home.
I explained, "It's just what we do."
"It's nice you treat me like family," he said.
"It was kinda weird when I realized you're only five years older than my oldest son."
"I'm like the older son you never had who's come home from college then?"
"Um.  Wow.  That's really... uh, I gotta go."

***

New Guy was in the news booth shortly before his news cast, and it looked like he had a piece of Scotch Tape under his nose.  When he caught me watching him, he removed the tape.
So, I pulled out a stretch of my own Scotch Tape, drew a Magic Marker mustache on it, and placed it under my nose.
He laughed, and we both dove for our tape dispensers.  It was ON!
When we next appeared across the glass from each other, I was wearing a goatee, and New Guy had a handlebar mustache.
He wore his through his entire newscast.
I was impressed.

"Did your mom ever say things to you like 'This is why we can't have nice things'?"
"Yes."
"Well, this is why we can't have webcams in the studio," I told him.

It actually felt like radio for a few minutes, there.
It was nice.

Ladies with the yarn

Hey.
The local ladies group that has the annual craft, fabric and yarn sale were awesome this year.

I'd mentioned on the air that I was heading over to their sale after work, and moments after I arrived there, I heard my name spoken across the room.
I looked over, but there was no one familiar there.  No one was trying to get my attention.
They were simply talking about me.

This is one of those weird things about working in radio.

Three ladies were manning the checkout table.
When I laid my yarn choices on the table, I asked, "So, this Roses... she's harassing you, is she?"
"Oh, no!  We love her!  She said on the radio that she was coming here today, and we were all wondering what she looks like.  None of us has ever seen her.  We were hoping to meet her."

So, I held out my hand and said hello.

They squealed with delight.
"Oh!  You're so small! And young! We expected someone much older and larger."

That was a good day.

"It makes a difference for this one." - A Single Starfish, by Loren Eiseley

While this story stands pretty strong on its own, the short story, "A Single Starfish" by Loren Eiseley may add to your appreciation of what this story means to me.


One year ago, when I was still reeling after the loss of my sister, and still raging at the cancer that robbed her of a good and purposeful life, the local paper did a story on a retired couple who started up a cancer support group.  This all-volunteer support group raises funds to help cancer patients with their bills and medical expenses.  All the money they raise ends up in the hands of these clients in the form of vouchers or a check made out directly to the utility company or to a landlord for rent.  No one gets cash.  They get whatever it is that they need.
Most important, I know my five dollar donation is going to end up in the hands of someone fighting cancer.  No administrative suit is going to peel off his percent and send it on down the line.

I fell in love with them immediately.  I wanted to help.  I wanted to give them money.
You guys, I wanted to crochet them something.  (You know me.  That means it's special.)

So I called them up out of the blue.
I introduced myself as Roses from the radio station.  In case they'd heard of me. 
Said I wanted to help, but I didn't know how.  I didn't have the kind of schedule that would allow me to volunteer at events or anything.
We talked for a good long time on the phone.  They talked mostly, I nodded a lot and kept saying, "That's what I like about you guys.  I've been looking for you."

After attending one of their meetings, I asked if they'd mind if I wrote a PSA (public service announcement) for their group. 
Mind?  You can do that?  Yes, please!
So, I did.  Wrote a script, voiced the commercial, got my boss's permission to run it on the station free of charge, and I put it in the stack to rotate with the other PSAs.  I e-mailed copies to other area radio stations, so there wasn't even any cash spent on postage. 
It's what I could do.  It cost me nothing.  It cost the radio station nothing because with everything digital, no additional materials were consumed, and it would run where there weren't any other commercials scheduled; it would fill time that would have been unpaid anyway.

Some people bake cookies.  I produce radio announcements.

That's where my contribution ended.  It took a couple days, and it was done.

That was last summer.
I feel odd still attending their meetings while having nothing more to offer.  I like to go because they share stories about the people they help.
Like the woman who couldn't work through the summer while taking chemo treatments, needed just one month's rent before she would be able to go back to work.  Done.
And the mother of two who had to choose between a prescription for herself or food for her children.  Didn't have to choose anymore.
The family of the 4-year-old boy with brain cancer who didn't have to worry about gas money to see specialists half a state away.

Every month, they have new stories to tell.
And I cry each time because I know this group has made a difference for each one of these people.

***

This past Tuesday, there was a message for me at work from this retired couple.  Could I please call them as soon as I could?
I figured it was something about the logo we'd discussed at the last meeting or maybe something I'd posted on Facebook.  Whatever.
Instead, it was a client story they wanted to share.  It goes something like this:

Monday afternoon, they'd gotten a call from a man living in his van.  He had once beaten stage 4 lymphoma, but it was back.  His cash was gone because he'd spent the last of it on a major van repair.  (He had to live somewhere, right?)  On the 5th of the month, he'd get a few hundred dollars from government assistance, but before he could receive it, he was required to meet with a case worker in the next town. The problem was he wouldn't be able to make the appointment because he was almost out of gas. The guy had nothing.  He just needed to hang on for a few more days before some cash came in.  But he wasn't going to make it. And... he even spent the last minutes left on his TracPhone to call the cancer organization.

Within hours, this couple verified his last known address, his medical condition, his story.
They met him at a gas station and filled his tank with gas, bought him minutes for his phone, then drove with him to the grocery store to buy him decent food... fresh fruit, a salad... and out of their own pocket paid for a bucket of chicken from the deli and potato wedges.
"This is the first hot meal I've had in a long time," the man told them.
He also said that as soon as his check came on the 5th, he'd pay it all back.
"No.  You won't.  We won't let you."

So, why did they feel the need tell me this story before the regular meeting when they'd share it with everyone?
"We wanted to call you right away because this guy had nothing, had nowhere to turn.  But he heard your PSA on the radio yesterday.  That's why he called us."

***

The one lousy PSA that I thought wasn't enough.
Was everything to this man.

***

They waited on the phone while I wept.
"I have to tell you something," I said between sobs.  "Your PSA rotates with a couple dozen other PSAs.  Meaning once every 24 times or so that a PSA plays, it's gonna be yours.  Yesterday, your PSA came up a lot.  I thought that was really odd.  But now I know why."
"So he could hear it."
"Because he needed to hear it."

It made a difference... for this one.

Weather... or not

There's this guy who calls the radio station frequently.
Sometimes he's annoying.  Sometimes he's just lonely.
I think the difference depends on what kind of day *I'm* having.

But, what he calls about is usually the weather.
"What is the temperature right now?"  And when I tell him, he'll say, "Well, I heard it's (some other temperature) at the airport."
"How much snow are we supposed to get?" And then, "The TV station says we're supposed to get (some other prediction)."

It *does* appear as if the sole intent of each one of his calls is to correct me.

So, Wednesday afternoon he calls to ask what time of day it's officially winter.
I tell him it's at 11:30pm.
"(TV meteorologists from a competing station) say we're supposed to get 3-4 inches of snow by morning!"
"That's not what (TV meteorologist who reports to our station) says."
"You know who this is, right?"
"Yeah, it's Fred.  You call me all the time to tell me the weather is wrong."
He laughs at that and then asks, "Well, do you know when the days get longer and the sun starts coming up again?"
"The sun starts coming up tomorrow."
"Noooo...."
"Sure it does."
"... the days start getting longer..."
"My way is funnier."
"I'm not trying to be funny."
"I am."
"Okay, then.  You have a nice Christmas."
"You, too, Fred."

Jingle all the way

Dear Radio Sales People Marketing Account Representatives,

Quit writing your ad copy with instructions to "add Christmas bells under".
This means we are supposed to record the commercial as usual, but add the sound of tickling bells along with our voice and the client's music jingle.
What you want is your client's commercial to sound festive without swapping out their usual jingle with actual Christmas music. 
I get that.
I do.

But, can you pick some other way to make it "Christmassy"?
The jingle bell sound effects file we have is just the sound of some guy shaking bells.
To his own beat.
Throw that behind a client's catchy jingle, and the beats don't match.

Oh, sure.
We can mess with things and match the two up.
But that takes time.
And if every stinking one of you is requesting "add Christmas bells under" on just about every client's ad, that's a lot of messing and matching going on.
We just don't have that kind of time on the production end of things.
At least, not at our station with its skeleton staff.

What I heard this morning is several ads with "Christmas bells under".
It was as festive as hearing "crickets chirping under".
And just as pleasant.

I don't have an alternative answer to "Christmas bells under".
Maybe you can write something that conveys Christmas spirit so the listener knows what it's about without being beat over the head with a frickin' bell.

November 11, 2011

I landed my current job in 2004.
Shortly after, a strongly worded memo was posted by the production department that all bits and pieces of audio needed to be saved with an "end date" (a specific month/day/year) so that old audio would show up as expired and could then be deleted to save computer memory space. 
Until this memo, we all put TFN (till further notice) as an end date, which meant a piece of production could run indefinitely.  It would never show up as out-of-date, and never be deleted.

Well, you can imagine how put out we all became upon finding out that instead of typing TFN we now had to type two numbers, a slash, two more numbers, a slash, and then two final numbers.
Oh!  The time consuming horror!

At the time, most of the stuff I worked with were perennial items, things that we reused every year, things that weren't supposed to expire.  Still, I was required to pick an end date.
To make it easy on myself, I decided to type 11/11/11.  Easy.  Just keep hitting ones with a slash in between.

Now, you must understand that up to that time, I'd never worked anywhere for more than five years.  In radio, people move around a lot.  They don't typically pay us much because they tell us we're having fun and we're lucky to be working at all, so we'll work for peanuts.  Consequently, since we're not paid much, we tend not to put up with a lot of managerial BS, and end up leaving every couple of years.  Or, a new conglomerate owner buys the station and fires everyone across the board.

As I typed in the new end date on so many pieces of production, I was very sure that by the time they all came up expired, it would be someone else's problem.  Not mine.

In 2004, the year 2011 was a hell of a long way off.
Today, 11/11/11 is one month off.

And I'm still here.

Thbbbt!

Turkey Salad Sandwich

I chat up my contestants before we play the quiz during my radio show.  Find out what they're doing, what their weekend plans are, how many kids they have...
Most often, during the school year, I get parents sitting in their cars waiting for their children to get out of school.  Through the summer, I never know what I'm gonna get.

On Friday, I got Mark.

Me:  Are you done for the weekend, Mark?
He:  No, I'm just sitting in the van, eating lunch.
Me:  That explains why it sounded like you were driving home.  What's for lunch?
He:  A turkey salad sandwich.
Me:  And?
He:  And... another one.

How to you top that?
Really?

Not Exactly Stereo

There were issues that required both the program director and the engineer to leap into action during my on-air shift.  They dashed back and forth between my studio and the adjoining transmitter room.  To make their tasks easier to maneuver, we propped open the door between the two rooms.

The speakers in the transmitter room play the same thing I broadcast from the studio only slightly delayed.  So, with the door propped open, and both sets of speakers turned up rather loud, there was something of an echo which we all could hear.

While waiting for a computer to reset successfully (which would signal the end of all the running around), we three were actually quiet for a moment as the two rooms blasted network news through the studio.

"Hey!" I declared.  "The voices in my head are saying the same thing as what's on the radio... only a split second later!"

I got a laugh.
The computer logged on properly.
And all was well.

PANTS

For those of you curious what was on the casette tape in the back of my desk drawer, it was an on-air conversation between the news chick and me about the current style of denim jeans.  I'd been shopping for jeans and was frustrated that most of the pants I found at the store had very skinny legs and very wide waists.  Like a martini glass.

It was a great conversation except for some reason none of the news chick's comments recorded on the tape.  At one point, there's a long moment of me occasionally mumbling "Mm hm," and "Yeah," and "Right!"  But nothing else.

Since half of the conversation is missing and I can never use it for anything the way it is, I am convinced it would have been the most brilliant thing to have on a resume tape.

Thbbbt.

Labels

Occasionally while I'm on the air, I set up a cassette to record the show.  Some DJs do this for "air checks", others do it to have material for a resume tape.  If anyone asks me, I tell them it's for awards entries, but it's really for a resume.

So, I have a collection of these cassette tapes in the back of my desk drawer.
On each one I have written the show's date and a short note about the subject matter on the tape.

The other day, I was sorting through this tape collection... for awards purposes, of course... and came across one cassette that caught my eye.

On it was a date from years ago.
And one word:

PANTS

I have no idea what that means.

Something like Indecent Proposal

*If you are a female and have ever filed a complaint with your Human Relations department because someone called you "Honey" or "Sweetheart" at work, this is not the post for you.  If you are a male, and you think it is a legal offense for a woman to tug on your tie and tell you to "loosen up a little", this is not the post for you.*

***

Are all the grown ups gone now?
Okay, good.

***

The relationship between the talk show host and me is extremely relaxed and casual.
He swears like a sailor whenever the mics are off, and I adjust my bra in front of him.  When I make him laugh soda out his nose, he says, "You.are.a.d!ck." I find this hilarious. 

Are you still with me?
If you are offended, it only gets worse.  Get out now.

I see some of you are now leaning closer to your computer screens.
Nice!
(Hello, Andy.)

***

At the broadcasters awards banquet Saturday night, I was seated between The Husband and the talk show host.
This is what actually happened:
Talk Show Host handed a couple $20 bills to The Husband and told him the first round of drinks was on him if The Husband would go get them.  The Husband walked away.  When he returned, he distributed beverages, handed Talk Host a $20 bill and said, "Here's your change."

But later in the evening, this exchange happened between the three of us:

Me:  (to The Husband, loud enough for Talk Host to hear) I'm just offended that Talk Host asked you, "How much to spend the night with your wife?" and he gave you forty bucks.
The Husband:  (laughing because the joke was on me)  Did you notice I gave him money back?
Talk Host:  Twenty bucks!  What a deal!  I'd have blown for $ixty!
Me:  As would I!

***

Come to think of it, I believe the other tables thought we were very obnoxious.