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Wasted Air Space!

D

DXDXDX

Here's something we might be able to have some fun with. How about delving back into our mental archives and trying to recall programing which would qualify as "wasted air space". Stuff that was really, really bad! Let me get it started!!!

Once upon a time there was a certain market with a great signal station programmed by the most professional PD ever in that market. One day, the GM fired him. Several months later (as I recall), that same GM died. We all waited with baited breath wondering who the new GM would be and if that new GM would bring back the PD. The day came...the newspaper had a big splash about the new GM! Despite all the glowing description, the new GM had ZERO experience and I mean "ZERO"! No news, no on air, no engineering, no sales. NO NOTHING! He was going to be the GM and PD. He hired a new night jock and after about a month they started running a promo about a "revolutionary" new concept in radio with the new "Its Your Dime" program. On that program, a listener could call in and do most anything! There were rules...you could not talk about contraversial subjects, no sports, no calling in and delivering any type of religious messages. Beyond that, almost anything was OK. What you had was several hours of people giving recipies as well as those who thought they were the next Frank Sinatra or Rodney Dangerfield. On the surface, this sounds like an interesting concept and it may have been except the new jock was under orders to not say anything beyond "Hello, Its Your Dime" and "Time's Up!" The right host could have alot of fun with the caller, but not this guy and the restrictions imposed on him. Eventually, the jock left and so did the program.

YOUR TURN!
 
Sheesh, at least yours was confined to in-house.

Three years ago I won a contest on the radio. Almost immediately a bizarre series of events involving a little jockette came on. Did I know this negative thing about the guy from whom I won the prize? Did I know that negative thing about the guy from whom I won the prize? Was I also aware that they were an item, and that she would be traveling to spend a week with him? Insipid sexual rants and other weird innuendo emerged. As if all of that was not strange enough, it was then taken beyond internal nonsense. I can only figure that the girl has or had access to state employees in an office somewhere, because next thing I know she is riding down my street, getting others to give her a ride, even attempting to rent a house next door so that she would be right in my backyard. When my car wasn't at the house the "investigations" ensued. At $4.00 a gallon for gas she was driving more than 50 miles one way for this crap. If I decided to spend a Sunday in funky, lazy attire that was commented on. If I was not at work there was a checkup to see if I was at home. She finally started dressing like me, carrying herself as I do, using the same gestures even - and using variations of the illusion for her contests, which she also did with the poor guy from whom I won the prize. If my whereabouts were not known my office would get hangup calls or any other kind of weird calls. Repeated announcements that she will be in town for any fun event, advertising that she had spent the weekend hanging out here. No way would the host from whom I won the prize have had any information to pass along. It was definitely nothing of value, so no personal information other than my name and address (PO Box) were needed. One of those little promotional baubles stations or networks get from time to time.

This has gone on for nearly three years, right down to efforts to look into my past, as though she has the right to perform background checks on me. Her justification for doing all of these this morphed into being asked to do all of that. Remember that contest guy from three years ago? Yeah, right, she's reporting my every movement, my life, to him - - kind of like she reported all about him to me.

Sage advice to me upon bringing it up to somebody trustworthy: "Silkie, you know they're out there, and more in number than one every twenty years or so. You just happened to be there to recognize it when you heard it."
 
Although there was a time when a local radio station chump took social security numbers for a tee shirt.
 
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