I was 16 in 1970 and inveigled myself into the good graces of the program director at KHOB in Hobbs, NM, initially sweeping floors, scrubbing the toilet, pretending to be janitor. Desperate to find a warm body to fill the Sunday 6am-noon slot, the PD rapidly promoted me to the controls. At first, all I had to do was thread the Ampex with the weekly Mormon Tabernacle Choir, read a live Broasty Chicken ad, intro the tape and hit play. At the appointed time, I made my on air debut and hit the remote button. Trouble was, the tape was threaded backward and...weird sounds ensued. I looked back and saw tape now spooling on the floor. Panicking, I gestured through the glass to the PD to come help. As he was en route, I turned back toward the console, put my head in my hands and muttered, "Oh Sh*t! The PD comes in, cursing himself, and yells, "take the tape off the air!" About that time I discover the mic is also still open. So I covertly kill both, hoping the PD's not watching...and no one is listening. After an eternity of dead air, the PD fixes the tape, he goes back out and all's well. But now the phone is flashing. I answer, "KHOB...." and the caller angrily demands to know "Who's in charge down there?" "Um, please hold, sir." I gesture through the glass again for the PD to pick up the call as I transfer it. Unable to hear the call but watching the PD smack his head and look toward me, I just know I'm done. My first day will be my last. He comes barging back in. "The Broasty Chicken guy is complaining that you just read last week's ad. Sales never updated the copy! Where is it?" Phew. I survived that day. 52 years later, happy I never got fired.