Kooky Callers
Late-night announcers – and day-light announcers for that matter – get their share of crazy callers and pseudo stalkers. But they seem to multiply on the overnight show. And I had some real doozies at CKSL in London.
There’s one guy in particular I’ll never forget. I still remember his first name and the small town he called home. Just thinking about him still creeps me out. He would call in the dead of night and after my “hello” he’d pick up mid-conversation – a conversation that must have already been taking place in his head. He’d talk about how we’d get married and he hoped I’d get along with his two dogs because he’d hate to have to get rid of them. We had never even met, let alone dated. He would describe our life together until I got up the nerve to stop taking his calls – a big no-no, according the PD. After all, this was an all request show!
Another guy – same station – would call me and accurately describe what I was wearing. Freaky. This one, the PD took seriously. The caller finally went away after the cops put a trace on his calls and had a little conversation with him. (He turned out to be an office worker in a building across the street from ours and in possession of binoculars. Just having a little fun!)
I did have another guy who called only once. He was, apparently, doing something to himself while fantasizing…um…while I was on the air. He called, upset, because I wasn’t talking long enough! Soooo disgusting. That darn 10 second talk rule was getting in the way of his fun. When the story of this guy got around it made for a funny moment at the station’s Christmas party when our morning man played a version of the old Johnny Carson character, Carnac. He held the envelope up to his head and said “The answer is: talk a little longer!” And the question was, “What do creepy guys tell Lisa Brandt when they call in on the overnight show!”
But the ultimate at this stop on my resume was the dude who didn’t call – he sent me photos …of me. They were blow-ups of candid shots taken while I attended public appearances. For example, I appeared on behalf of the station at a craft show and the following week, in my mail bunk, was an 8 x 10 of me, taken with a telephoto lens, at that show. This happened 3 or 4 times and the word “stalker” was definitely becoming top of mind. There were no notes with the photos, no threats. Just a clear message that I was being watched. I was becoming scared.
The mystery ended when the part-time traffic reporter approached me and – grinning like an idiot – asked if I liked his photography. He said he didn’t know how to ask me out so he thought he’d get my attention first. Then we fell in love. NOT! I wanted to claw his eyes out for the fear he stirred up. But I just said no and suggested he might want to try another method of getting a girl’s attention. I still remember how crestfallen he looked. The poor fool really thought he was being clever and that I’d be thrilled.
