Read Online With a Little Luck: A Novel by Caprice Crane - Free Book Online

explode.
    We’ve been running a contest with a few of our sister stations in different cities. One winner from each station will be flown to New York for the opening night of the Rolling Stones’ latest “comeback”tour. Side note: How many times should we allow bands to do “farewell” tours and then “comeback” tours before we call bullshit on them? It’s really gotten out of hand.
    Anyway, the contest is called “Ten from Ten to Ten,” and it’s really not that complicated to win—you just have to have no life, not sleep, and never leave your radio. It’s that simple. We’ve played eight Rolling Stones songs during the past twenty-one hours. I started us off last night at about ten p.m., and the station kept it going all day today. I’ll play two more songs between when my shift starts at seven and ten p.m. tonight, bringing us to a total of ten Stones songs. You can imagine how I feel having three even numbers thrust into my life in a significant way like this, but it’s offset by the fact that there are three “tens,” so I’m choosing to believe the odd number balances it out.
    Our winner will get front-row tickets and backstage passes, and will participate in an after-show “meet and greet” with the band, winners from other radio stations, and a handful of DJs. I get to fly out to New York and warm up the crowd before the show. While public speaking is something I do daily on the radio, it’s something I never do in public. I wonder if I chose radio because I wanted to be heard more than seen. There will be cameras everywhere and an audience upward of twenty thousand people. To say I’m nervous about the appearance would be like saying that dropping a baby on its head isn’t recommended. I’m terrified. But I will rise to the occasion, and just to be on the safe side, I’ll ask Natalie for one of those Xanax pills she’s always taking when she’s stressed, or if she’s anxious, or if the sun rose that day.
    My theory: Bill picked me instead of our morning radio personalities because they’re trying to reclaim the “youth” factor even though we play classic rock, which “youths” don’t really tend to listen to—at least not the youth demographic our owners are after. Iknew that Jed and Daryl, our on-air morning team, were pissed off from the looks I was getting when I’d pass them in the hallway. Anyone who thinks that we’re one big happy family at the station should spend five minutes with us at shift change. If only I had a nickel for every time I picked up my headphones to find the volume cranked to maximum and a piece of tape over the mute button …
    Almost nobody is friends with anyone else, inside or outside the station. Take that general animosity and then couple it with the fact that our building houses five other stations under the same media conglomerate and you have a human demolition derby of petty competition. Our morning drive team hates the rush-hour DJ, the rush-hour DJ hates the competing rush-hour DJ on KDAY, they all hate the “Dr. Love” DJ who’s on KKRL because they’re secretly jealous that he’s younger, better-looking, and probably smarter than them. Every intern wants the assistant’s job. Every assistant wants to be a board operator, and every board operator wants to be the star of the show. If you mix that all together, you’ve got one giant bowl of bitter batter.
    I suppose it’s no different from any other workplace. You’ll always have climbers and backstabbers, but I guess because we have it times six, it just seems to make my everyday working environment that much more of an adventure in screeching feedback.
    “I’m sorry,” I finally say. “Yes, I’m ready. I thought there was perhaps something else. My bad.” I hate the phrase “my bad,” and I hate that I said it, but the situation is already awkward enough and I just need a transition to get me out of his office.
    We’ve done contests before. I’ve picked winners before.