Read Online Yankee Doodle Dixie by Lisa Patton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Patton
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Street was the birth of the blues, for goodness sake. And between B.B. King, Stax Records, Sun Studio, Elvis, Carl Perkins, and Jerry Lee Lewis, Memphis has as much to brag about as Los Angeles or even New York for that matter. Why in the world we lost the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame to Cleveland, Ohio, is still a mystery to me.
Once Edward reaches his office door he heads on in front of me. When I finally arrive he gestures toward a chair in front of his desk and asks me to take a seat. “Pretty cool, huh?” he says, as he’s walking behind his desk.
“Excuse me?”
“The gold records. The platinum records. All the awards.”
“Oh. Yes! Wow. Y’all have so many.”
After sitting in his chair, he scoots himself all the way up so he can rest his elbows on the desk. “That’s what happens when you’re number one. No lonely number there.”
I tilt my head a little to the side.
“Three Dog Night?”
“Oh! Sure. ‘One Is the Loneliest Number.’”
“If you hadn’t known that one, this would have gone to the bottom of the pile.” He holds up my résumé, which is in the center of his desk. “You’ve passed the first test.”
“That’s a relief,” I say, and mean it.
Edward combs his short but full beard and peers down at my résumé. “You went to Ole Miss?” He looks up with a blank expression on his face. “I’ve heard that’s a big party school.”
“Well, sure. It had its moments.” That’s an odd question. “But I didn’t do all that much partying.” Okay, I lied.
The combing of his beard continues. “How fast do you type?”
“I think about forty words per minute. I took typing in college and I’m actually pretty good at it.”
“This job would be answering the phone calls that come into the station. You’d be assisting me and the promotion director, who you’ll meet before you leave.” Every time he lists a job responsibility, he holds up another finger. “You’d distribute the prizes to the contest winners.” One finger . “You’d coordinate with traffic and make sure they have all the info the jocks need.” Two fingers .
I look a bit confused at the term “traffic.”
“The traffic department generates a daily log that lists everything from the songs that will be played during a certain shift, to the ads that will air, to the station promo spots, to the live ads the jocks read. That kind of thing. In short, the jocks need a log that tells them exactly what’s going on during the day. They need to know precisely what time to give away a certain prize.” He drops his voice to a slightly elevated whisper. “Jocks are basically idiots. We have to give them the ABCs of everything. Tell them what they need to keep the contests straight.”
That’s rude, I wish I could say.
“You’d be sending out FedEx packages.” More listing on his fingers, we’re at three fingers and a thumb now. “Plus you’d be helping me with my letters and stuff. Do you have a problem with getting coffee?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. Lie number two.
“Just kidding.” He breaks into a frightful smile, his full cherry-red lips have several wrinkles, resembling sun-dried tomatoes in between his mustache and beard.
I have to force a grin.
“Does the job sound like something you’d be interested in?”
“Absolutely. It’s exactly what I’m looking for.” I lean in toward him. “I’m really good with people and I’m honest.” Well, I may have lied about not partying much in school and not minding getting coffee, but basically I am very honest.
“Okay, let’s give it a chance. I’ll send you upstairs to HR and you can talk to Janice about benefits. We have the usual. Health, dental, and life as an option. 401(k) matching after you’re vested—that’s five years, I think.”
“Honestly? You’re offering me the job, already?” I say, without thinking. Uh-oh, I hope I didn’t sound too eager.
“Careful, this trial period is part two of the
Once Edward reaches his office door he heads on in front of me. When I finally arrive he gestures toward a chair in front of his desk and asks me to take a seat. “Pretty cool, huh?” he says, as he’s walking behind his desk.
“Excuse me?”
“The gold records. The platinum records. All the awards.”
“Oh. Yes! Wow. Y’all have so many.”
After sitting in his chair, he scoots himself all the way up so he can rest his elbows on the desk. “That’s what happens when you’re number one. No lonely number there.”
I tilt my head a little to the side.
“Three Dog Night?”
“Oh! Sure. ‘One Is the Loneliest Number.’”
“If you hadn’t known that one, this would have gone to the bottom of the pile.” He holds up my résumé, which is in the center of his desk. “You’ve passed the first test.”
“That’s a relief,” I say, and mean it.
Edward combs his short but full beard and peers down at my résumé. “You went to Ole Miss?” He looks up with a blank expression on his face. “I’ve heard that’s a big party school.”
“Well, sure. It had its moments.” That’s an odd question. “But I didn’t do all that much partying.” Okay, I lied.
The combing of his beard continues. “How fast do you type?”
“I think about forty words per minute. I took typing in college and I’m actually pretty good at it.”
“This job would be answering the phone calls that come into the station. You’d be assisting me and the promotion director, who you’ll meet before you leave.” Every time he lists a job responsibility, he holds up another finger. “You’d distribute the prizes to the contest winners.” One finger . “You’d coordinate with traffic and make sure they have all the info the jocks need.” Two fingers .
I look a bit confused at the term “traffic.”
“The traffic department generates a daily log that lists everything from the songs that will be played during a certain shift, to the ads that will air, to the station promo spots, to the live ads the jocks read. That kind of thing. In short, the jocks need a log that tells them exactly what’s going on during the day. They need to know precisely what time to give away a certain prize.” He drops his voice to a slightly elevated whisper. “Jocks are basically idiots. We have to give them the ABCs of everything. Tell them what they need to keep the contests straight.”
That’s rude, I wish I could say.
“You’d be sending out FedEx packages.” More listing on his fingers, we’re at three fingers and a thumb now. “Plus you’d be helping me with my letters and stuff. Do you have a problem with getting coffee?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. Lie number two.
“Just kidding.” He breaks into a frightful smile, his full cherry-red lips have several wrinkles, resembling sun-dried tomatoes in between his mustache and beard.
I have to force a grin.
“Does the job sound like something you’d be interested in?”
“Absolutely. It’s exactly what I’m looking for.” I lean in toward him. “I’m really good with people and I’m honest.” Well, I may have lied about not partying much in school and not minding getting coffee, but basically I am very honest.
“Okay, let’s give it a chance. I’ll send you upstairs to HR and you can talk to Janice about benefits. We have the usual. Health, dental, and life as an option. 401(k) matching after you’re vested—that’s five years, I think.”
“Honestly? You’re offering me the job, already?” I say, without thinking. Uh-oh, I hope I didn’t sound too eager.
“Careful, this trial period is part two of the
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