Public Radio Slave

Free Chapter + Toenails

2012-04-17T08:43:00.001-07:00

Friday, November 16th, 3:30 p.m.

It’s Friday afternoon and I am the only employee left in the building, except Gary who is doing his air shift. This seems to be the Friday pattern. Come 3:00 p.m. everyone disappears. I wish I could disappear as well, but at least it’s quiet, except for All Things Considered blasting out of multiple speakers. The lack of coworkers gives me the perfect opportunity to kill some time by snooping through their areas.

1. Horg has a small desk in the music library, and a wall covered with sulking musician glossies and a desk filled with empty candy wrappers. Horg has gained the freshman fifteen since moving into the dorms this semester. His roommate, Jack, is a jock. Their moms decorated their rooms with matching Target décor. They immediately despised each other, but quickly realized that they both enjoy getting drunk. Now the Goth kid and jock are best friends. He has a picture of the two of them on his desk. He may like Jack as more than a friend, but this has yet to be determined.

2. Vivienne reminds me of Carrie from Stephen King’s novel--if Carrie had survived that horrible night, and had gone on to finish high school, and everyone had kept making fun of her, and throwing pig blood on her. And then she'd gone off to college where her teleportation powers had faded, and she'd decided to go into radio. Her hair is just as stick straight and blonde as Carrie’s, although she usually coils it into a bun. Her desk is spotless, and if I move one of her Precious Moments figurines by just a centimeter she will notice. It is tempting but terrifying—so I do it, turning a smiling clown figure towards the corner of the desk, putting the clown in time-out.

3. Lois, Gary, and Cliff occupy the production end of the building: two recording studios, a large room used to answer phones during the pledge drive, a music library stacked with thousands of CDs, and the control room. Surrounding these main rooms are their offices, basically nests carved out of corners and old closets--a series of mounds, empty Slurpy cups, and worn out bean bag chairs burping their contents onto the carpet. It's a mysterious place of electronics and outdated periodicals, while the other end of the building remains a land of administrative peril, the front desk being the fork in the road, both paths leading to Crazytown.

4. Cliff has been the station engineer for fifteen years, but unfortunately he hasn't learned anything new in ten years. He frequently asks me to help him attach pictures to emails. His desk and work area are a jumble of cords and nails, all covered in a thick layer of dust. The most interesting thing I know about Cliff is that he is married to a professional fire eater. She is a very large woman, covered with tattoos, and she travels with a small circus. He wears a pocket protector and she eats fire, it’s an odd match, which makes it all the more intriguing. He has a picture of her on his desk, her mouth aglow. Each time she comes into the station I hope that she will offer us a free show, but it never happens. I wonder if she can get workman’s comp if her mouth burns up? I like to imagine her lighting Cliff’s smokes from across the room, or charring a steak as she throws it in the air.

5. Stuck haphazardly on Lois’ desk is a picture of her dog Fuzzy. He's a three legged mutt that she occasionally brings into work. Fuzzy knows to be quiet once the on-air light goes on. He’ll lay patiently by Lois’ feet for hours without a peep. Lois is the station's cool breeze of normal, while trapped in a sauna of delusional. Lois loves her job, and while Gladys will eventually die at her desk, Vivienne will be recruited by the IRS, and Gary will star in a jazz inspired porno, Lois will still happily be hosting Morning Edition, years from now.

6. Back in the administrative end of the building I find a note from Vivienne to Marjorie—a Post-It Note stuck to Marjorie's cube wall. She wants paper clips. The note implies that the paper clips I bought her yesterday were NOT the right size, and they were NOT going to work for her project. She needs JUMBO paper clips. Colored JUMBOS. I want to rip the note off the wall and toss it in the recycle bin, or leave another note saying how I'd love to spend my weekend shaping metal with my teeth, crafting perfect paper clips for her project. I leave the note and swallow the anger.

7. I don't know who did it. I don't want to know who did it. But someone has left a tidy pile of toenail clippings in the middle of the conference room table. I leave a Post-It Note about the toenails for the cleaning lady. Passive aggressiveness, pass it on.

Free! Free!

2012-01-06T06:59:00.000-08:00

Diary of a Public Radio Slave is FREE today! I'll be doing more of these FREE days over the next three months, so snatch yours up today on Amazon: http://tiny.cc/t8owi

99 Pennies

2011-12-07T07:05:00.000-08:00

The e-book version of Diary of a Public Radio Slave is just .99 cents through December! I want to see if the whole .99 cent phenomenon works. I will also be compiling a list of places to promote your .99 cent book. So if you haven't purchased the book go do it! Now. Now I said.

Now Available In Paperback!

2011-09-23T09:32:00.000-07:00

The book is now available in paperback on Amazon for $9.99--and of course it is still availabe as an e-book for $2.99.

It is almost Fall pledge drive season at most public radio stations. 10% of all revenue from book sales will be donated to public radio stations across the country.

I suppose you want to know what I am going to do with the other 90%. Buy a candy bar? Buy a first-class stamp? Make wishes in a well? I'm hoping to make enough money to buy one box of diapers for the baby. If I have enough left over I may go to Arby's.

So 10% will go to radio stations and 90% will go to diapers and curly fries. That sounds about right.

Sample Chapter from Diary of a Public Radio Slave

2011-04-13T07:39:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, November 20^th, 11:00 a.m.

“Who brought the peanuts?”
“I think it was Vivienne. I'm not sure though.”
"Wow, these are good. Have you tried these?”
“No, I haven't.”
“You should, do you want me to bring you a napkin full?”
“No thanks, I'll get up and get some when I finish working on this.”
“Are you sure? These are really good, I think I'll eat 200 and call it lunch.”
“Yeah, that's okay. I'm going to go home for lunch.”
“Suit yourself.”

Two minutes later.
“Oh, who brought the peanuts?”
“I don't know.”
“Wow these are good, have you tried them?”
“No, not yet.”
“These are diet peanuts right?”
“Sure, diet peanuts it is.”

Two minutes later.
“Peanuts! Where did these come from?”
“Someone must have brought them in.”
“Huh, I wonder who?”
“I don't know. But I hear they're good.”
“I wonder how much they paid for these?”
“I really don't know.”
“They look like expensive peanuts.”
“Do they? I wouldn't know.”
“Well, I am taking a cup full. You don't have to tell everyone else how many I'm eating.”
“I'll keep it to myself.”

Three minutes later.
“Did you see the peanuts on the table over there?”
“Yes, I've heard quite a bit about the peanuts.”
“Oh really? Did you know that I brought them in?”
“No, I did not.”
“Have you tried them?”
“No.”
“Does everyone know that I brought them?”
“I didn't know who brought them, so no, I wasn't able to pass on that information.”
“Well please let everyone know, maybe in an email. They were on sale. I saved about fifty cents. I would like the container back when it's empty. And don't remove the Mr. Peanut label.”

Buy the Book! Diary of a Public Radio Slave

2011-04-12T08:10:00.000-07:00

My first novel Diary of a Public Radio Slave is now availabe as an ebook from Amazon. 10% of all proceeds will be donated to local public radio stations--so call your station and make a pledge and then pledge again by purchasing the book!

The book is listed for just $2.99--that's less than a freakin' Starbucks. You'll enjoy the book if you've ever worked in customer service--answering phones, waiting tables--or if you've ever shared a cubicle, or air, with a coworker. Here's more:

"When Sloan Kennedy is handed a pink slip from her employer and her fiancé, she has to find a way to pay the mortgage on a new house and cancel all of her wedding plans. After a minor breakdown (she allows herself a week long pity party), Sloan applies for an administrative assistant position at the local Public Radio station. The position is a step down from her former job as an announcer, but Sloan is desperate, and at least it's in broadcasting.

While filling out the application Sloan meets Horg (his goth name), a student employee, who is perfecting his British accent, with hopes of one day working for the BBC. Also lurking in the lobby is Gladys, the station's 85-year-old busy body. Gladys has worked at the radio station since War Of The Worlds was broadcast, and she knows all the gossip regarding the station's employees and volunteers. Marjorie, the Fundraising Director, interviews Sloan, in a cluttered conference room, disappearing at one point to blend herself a wheat-grass smoothie. Marjorie hires Sloan, and promptly disappears, leaving Sloan to get accustomed to her new job on the front lines of a public radio station. Sloan quickly realizes that while the majority of her new coworkers, and many of the radio station's listeners are bizarre, her new boss Marjorie is her nemesis. Gladys describes Marjorie as "flakier than a bowl full of dandruff" and the description is accurate. During a marketing campaign gone awry, Marjorie designs jumbo postcards to be mailed to all the listeners, but instead of highlighting public radio listener's superb intellect with the slogan "Survival of the Fittest" the postcards are mailed out proclaiming "Survival of the Fattest." Sloan is left to deal with the backlash of phone calls from irate listeners.

The station is gearing up for a pledge drive, which will include a visit by Sebastian Kohler, a preeminent public radio personality, ala Garrison Keeler. While Sloan navigates the daily duties of an administrative assistant (making vats of coffee and answering the recurring question, "Who is in the bathroom?") she must also deal with the delicate psyches of her coworkers and locate all the items on Mr. Kohler's Green Room list, including a specialty breathe mint, rumored to help squelch Mr. Kohler's notorious halitosis.

Amidst a blizzard the pledge drive begins. While it's bitterly cold outside, too cold for many of the decrepit volunteers to venture out of their homes to answer phones, inside the station it's sweltering. The heater has gone on the fritz, forcing staff to strip down to long johns and tube tops. Cliff, the station engineer, who still hasn't learned how to send an email, is no help in remedying the problem and can typically be found napping on the lobby carpet. The only person not sweating is Vivienne, the germophobic office accountant/announcer, who despises anyone sharing her air space, but especially Marjorie.

Marjorie and Vivienne quickly lock horns over the color of paper used in the printer, causing a tense show-down. And on the day that Mr. Kohler arrives, with a line of fans stretching around the building, tension between Marjorie and Vivienne boils over and the two grown women lock themselves in a bathroom together, refusing to come out. It's a stand-off that leaves Mr. Kohler unattended, and no one to interview him. Knowing that she could lose her job, but determined that the show must go on, Sloan takes charge, going on-air to interview Sebastian about his latest book." --Diary of a Public Radio Slave

Diary of a Public Radio Slave

2011-03-29T07:15:00.000-07:00

Coming soon....available as an ebook for your reading enjoyment!!! Oh and that is my name, I've never published it here before. Most of you thought I was a dude. I'm not.

The Toilet Saga Continues

2010-11-23T14:33:00.000-08:00

A new plumber showed up to investigate our toilet dilemma. He stuffed wads of paper in the toilet with his dirty hands and proclaimed that there was no problem. That his wad was huge and that our "china" had no problem.

Fine, whatever, I'll call you in a few days when it overflows again.

And then he looked at me, completely serious, and said, "You may want to go around to all of your coworkers and find out what kind of medications they are on, because sometimes that can cause large bowel movements."

This is someone who has spent too much time with toilets and not enough time with people. He was not kidding, but the idea of actually polling my coworkers about their meds and bathroom habits gave me a good laugh. Maybe I can start going to the bathroom with each of them and bring a ruler.

The Toilet

2010-10-19T14:32:00.000-07:00

Today I called the maintenance man to come take a look at thetoilet in the women's restroom. It was overflowing and clogged. This is a weekly occurrence. I call this man each week to come fix our toilet and he shuffles in and gets it done without a word. It's his job. But today he'd had enough of touching our toilet. And he decided to let me know, to take it out on me.

Me: So is it all fixed?

Toilet Man: How many of you women use this toilet?

Me: You mean each day?

Toilet Man: What are you women stuffing down this toilet?

Me: I'm not stuffing anything in the toilet and I really can't speak for...

Toilet Man: It is disgusting! You are all disgusting! I've never had to deal with one toilet so often. I mean can't you just hold it until you get home?

Me: Uh...

Toilet Man: Learn to control yourself or get a litter box or something.

And he storms out of the office. But he'll be back, about this time next week. And I think I'll tell him that we've all started wearing Depends, just to make his life a little easier.

Thoughts on Arby's During Lunch On A Rainy Afternoon

2010-08-17T14:31:00.000-07:00

Just got back from Arby's. I'm always going to love me some McDonald's, but I feel a little bit fancy when I go to Arby's. Going there makes me feel like I'm worthy, that I deserve some curly fries. And then I deserve another order of curly fries. And then I still want more curly fries, which makes me start to question my worth once again. But then I remind myself that Arby's isn't going anywhere. Arby's is not a dead-beat dad who is going to run off and leave me, or a friend who is going to delete me from Facebook, or a boss who is going to fire me. Arby's will always be there. They are never going to leave, unless someone burns their building down. But even if that Arby's burns down there will be another Arby's a few miles away, so tomorrow I can go get more curly fries. It's all going to be okay.

Back to the front desk and the phones and that weird radio station smell.

Your Dirty Work

2010-06-04T14:30:00.000-07:00

"Go ahead and send an email out to everyone and tell them to get their stuff out of the microwave after they've cooked it. If you send it out it won't sound as bad." --The Boss

Farm Town and Farmville at Work

2010-04-11T14:29:00.000-07:00

I'm a farmer. I have llamas, goats, chickens, horses, dogs, cats, reindeer, and some sheep with decorative St. Patrick's Day shamrock hats. I plow, I plant, I sell my crops so that I can purchase mansions and elaborate water features.

I slave away for hours a day on my crops--it takes a lot of energy to maintain a farm. It's sweat equity, and some day it will pay off in big dividends. Or not, maybe someday the boss will walk in and notice that instead of updating the playlists on the station website I am tootaling along in my bell pepper field.

I hope that never happens, the world needs to be fed. Farm Aid 2010. Support your local farmer.

Two Years Ago

2010-03-14T14:26:00.000-07:00

I frequently get calls and emails from listeners hoping that I can help them find the name or the artist of a song--a song they heard two years ago. Two years seems to be the general amount of time it takes a public radio listener to hear, contemplate, and take action on finding an answer.

This aggravates me. It makes me anxious. It means my brain works very differently than other brains. I don't even know how old I was two years ago. I certainly don't have memories of a song--memories that I can pinpoint to Christmas Eve two years ago.

If there was a song that I wanted to find more information about I would call that day, or that week. Beyond that week it is off my radar. How can someone have that task on their mental To-Do list for two years?

It's also frustrating because I can never answer these questions. We don't keep playlists of our shows for that long. So these listeners have waited for two years for their answer and they are not going to get it. All that wasted energy.

Friday Afternoon

2010-03-05T14:24:00.000-08:00

3:00pm

Everyone else has gone home. The weather is finally nice. It's just me, the computer, a bunch of dirty coffee cups, recorded news, a quick glance at my farms on Facebook, an open bag of stale chips on the snack table, a trash can full of stuff that could have been recycled, a caller wanting to know where the live music shows are this weekend, a listener coming in who wants to pick up his mug, a pile of paperclips begging to be organized, a stack of mail with my name on it, and me in my casual Friday attire.

Diane Rehm

2010-01-30T14:23:00.000-08:00

An Email:
I've been a paying member of your public radio station for many years. What is with this Diane Rehm person? Is she 150 years old? Is she learning disabled or none of the above? I intend to terminate my membership.

My Response:
That is just mean. Poor Diane Rehm has a throat condition. Hopefully you never develop any health problems or have a big goiter grow on your ugly face. Your threat of termination has been taken under consideration, and we wish to terminate you instead. No more public radio for you!
The Slave

The Cold War Is Over

2009-11-08T14:22:00.000-08:00

An Email:

Hello radio station,

I'm musical producer from Russia. First of all - I wish to notice, that I always was against cold war
between our countries. And presidents of our countries have decided to declare friendship at long last. We are very glad to this developments! Let's fasten our relations by creativity! I understand, that to you the considerable quantity of letters comes. But nevertheless I wish to ask you to single out my tracks from a mass. Because your radio and my tracks are simply created for each other! ;) ;) ;)

P.S. I very much wish to visit America. But for this purpose I need to earn a some money.

My Reply:

Thank you for your letter. Let us put our pasts aside, the woes of our ancestors need not influence the love we can have for each other through music. I have singled your tracks from the masses and I wish for our friendship to be creative and profitable. Let us earn much money together so you can visit America and I can visit your cold motherland. We are now one.

The Slave

September 11th

2009-10-19T14:20:00.000-07:00

An email:

Would you please forward me the playlist from 9-11-01, my friend said the music was great that day, that it was really perfect for the occasion.

Thanks,

Lady

My response:

Hey lady,

Really perfect for the occasion? You mean the terrorist attack occasion? Oh, I forgot, we did put a special mix of mood music together the night before. We even lit our lava lamps and rolled up a couple of doobies. Ambient lighting, good friends, and good tunes, what could be better?

There is no playlist for that day you big dummy. There wasn't any music played; we "played" news all day. You're making me mad.

Slave

You Look Like Jesus

2009-09-14T14:19:00.000-07:00

An email:

Do you know anyone that looks like Jesus? Maybe they don't now, but they would if they had a beard and a wig on. Think about your friends with Jesus beards and Jesus wigs. We are shooting a short film and are on the hunt for Jesus. Jesus would not need to know how to act, and he would only have to be on set for about two hours. Get back to me ASAP.

My response:

If you've got the beard and the wig I've got the woman for you. She's my best friend, and I think she would look exactly like Jesus once you bearded/wigged her. She's an atheist so I don't know how she feels about playing Jesus, but maybe she would do it for ironic laughs. She certainly doesn't know how to act, she's an accountant. I'll be her agent/manager/bodyguard.

That Lady Is Extraneous

2009-09-03T14:18:00.000-07:00

An email:

I hope with my entire soul that the woman who does your intro clips is not your wife. She is unnecessary, distracting, extraneous, and an irritant. Sometimes I think she must be the manager of the radio station; why else would she be allowed on the air?

You sound so easy-going and she sounds like a bitch. She sounds like she is recording from an executive bathroom, and you're recording from a hookah den. I prefer hookahs. I've wondered about this woman for years, so your response will be appreciated.

My response:

That girl is nobody's wife; she is an office slut passed around from one hookah owner to another. Toodles.

Secret Santa Needs Suggestions

2009-06-30T14:17:00.000-07:00

An email:

Dear jazz guy,
Recently, while listening to satellite radio in another country I heard a long set composed of Spanish style acoustic guitar, it was very Latin, but was also very jazzy. Since the satellite stations don't speak I couldn't figure out who it was. Any ideas? FYI: It was not Muzak. Any help is appreciated, as my coworkers will soon want Secret Santa suggestions.

My response:
Since I know the jazz guy will not respond to your email, I will. Without hearing it or knowing anything about your long jazzy set I can tell you that it was indeed Muzak. If you give me a call I will put you on hold and you might hear it. Last I checked it was the middle of a very hot summer--Santa wants me to tell you that he is on unemployment until the end of December and if you start drumming up work for him with the notion that you actually have friends at your office he will come kill you.

I Had A Pony!

2009-05-27T14:16:00.000-07:00

A new volunteer comes in to the radio station to answer phones during the pledge drive. When asked, "Helen, what do you do?" Helen has a nervous breakdown. It appears that Helen only wanted one thing in life, a pony.

No, Helen is not a tween, Helen is middle aged. Some people want to get married and have children, some people want to be an astronaut, Helen wanted to own a pony. The stars aligned for Helen, and her wish was granted. Helen bought a pony, and the pony grew up to be a horse. And then the grown up pony died.
And Helen's reason for living died with the pony. She thought she was worthless, a sad excuse for a human being, and she couldn't stop crying about the dead pony. And we all sat and listened to this story, and some people sympathized and teared up too, thinking about their pets that had died through the years.

But all I could think about was the Seinfeld episode where Jerry comments during a dinner party, "Who are these people who have ponies?" And the old Polish grandmother says, "I had a pony!" And I wanted to tell Helen that I too had had a pony! But alas, there was no pony. And I started to feel like a worthless, pony-less, loser.

But then I got over it, and I started to chuckle, and I stuffed a donut in my mouth to cover my giggles. Because if I had a pony it would be a miniature pony and I would put it to work giving rides to little kids. And my pony would make me rich until it was time to turn it into glue.

Here's My Advice

2009-02-09T14:15:00.000-08:00

From a fellow Public Radio Slave...

What's the best way to start a Monday morning? We all must begin our week by checking the voicemail; seeing what came in over the weekend. I started my day with one message, simple and to the point:
"If you take my advice, you'll eat a big bowl of sh****t."

That's it. No suggestions about why I should do this. Was it Diane Rehm's voice? Was it because you heard our underwriting credit about the symphony?

So I wrote down the phone number. I remember when I used to spend my Friday and Saturday nights prank calling people. It was great fun, but I was 11. This guy was at least 45. And we were prank calling old ladies, not radio station answering machines.

$420 a night plus a meat!

2008-12-17T14:13:00.000-08:00

An email:
Dear Friend, my naming is Ndugood. I am wealthy Nigerian prince who love the jazz of music. I seeking am your help to move $200,000,000 from my of accounts hear in Nigeria to the North of America.

I too love the jazz of music and I planing to flea to your home county to open many jazz clubbings at which I wood like you of performs. You receive $420 a night, plus a meat. My new "Tribal Village Vangoord" clubs will be of greatest success and you become much richings. I have all city exemptings allow for spearings of live food.

But I desperate be needing of your help. My tribe, the Swindlisi, piece of jazz-loving peoples, has been horribly impressed by the ruling military junka, which despirses the jazz of music. My father, are exiled king, was recently impreseasoned. And so must I flee my beloveing county with all of my improbable wealthings.
But I need helpings of moving it. All money of I have will not fit in of allotted jet bags. I am there for want to transfer my wealthings to you through ATM of your system. (Nigerian ATM can not exchanging of international currencing). So to please of you to me your of full name and of addressing, social security numbering, bank account and PIN numbers of yours. And you will becoming of very rich from when playing many of jazz gigs at "Tribal Village Vangoord" clubs.

Response:
Dear Ndugood, I am so excited to learn that Nigerian internet scams are really just about bringing jazz to the world. If the Swindlisi are a jazz-loving people does that mean that there are other tribes who may be death metal-loving people? I cannot wait until the opening of your club! I will rent a limo and bring all my friends, and everyone will be so impressed when I perform the jazz.

After my performance I will expect my meat. I am glad the city has agreed to let you spear live food. What type of meat were you hoping to impale? Rat? Dog? A nice juicy toddler? You are in quite a pickle with your overflow of money and your small jet bags. How devastating to not be able to fit all of your money into your luggage. How about I come to you? Please forward your contact information and I will make sure I bring a suitcase that can handle all your stupid money. Let Jazz Live!

Get Rich Or Die Tryin

2008-10-11T14:12:00.000-07:00

An email from a listener:
For a little while now, between local informational and station identification pieces, I've heard segments of interlude music that I find somewhat offensive. The music in question is a remixed instrumental version of 50 Cent's rap "Get Rich or Die Tryin," better known as "P-I-M-P."
Some of the lines that bother me specifically include: I don’t know what u heard about me,
But a bitch can’t get a dollar out of me, No Cadillac, no perms u can’t see, That I'm a motherfucking P-I-M-P, A hour later had her ass up in the Ramada, I’m your friend, your father, your confidant, BITCH, Man this ho, you could have her when I’m done I ain't gonna keep her.
Thanks for looking into this.

My response:
I'm glad you're listening, you mofo PIMP. I thought it was pretty rad that NPR would use a 50 Cent song as a music bed. I am confused about the lyrics, since you admitted that what you heard was instrumental, do you really think the old lady hoes listening know those lyrics? I think not. I think you know the lyrics because you listen to 50 Cent in the shower. How about this, would you like to meet at the Ramada for an hour? I'm up for it. I am also up for bringing the perm back. Let's hang out at the Ramada downtown and give each other perms and I'll help you get past these pesky lyrics you didn't hear.

The Slave Yo.

If You Get Married You May Get Eaten By A Bear

2008-07-07T13:30:00.000-07:00

An email:
Hi, You heard this morning that a man was undone by a bear. You recently saw it on the news. A man who worked with a bear was killed by the bear. You will also recall that two years ago a man who lived with wild bears was eaten by bears. Not long after that a man who loved sharks and other dangerous denizens of the deep came to a sudden and much publicized end when one of them turned on him. You and I know that there are wild and uncontrollable creatures on this planet that may be toyed with for a while, but that at any time they are likely to turn on you. And yet, every day you and I have one more friend who plans to get married. You are invited to stop by for supper anytime. Steve

Response: Thank you for the dinner invitation Steve. Unfortunately, I will not be able to attend. I work with bears and other denizens of the deep and because of your email I now suffer from agoraphobia and can't leave my house. I do not wish for my coworkers to eat me or undo me. I do wish to marry you though. I can make all the arrangements and we can do it on your lunch break if that is convenient. Hope to speak with you soon...