Tyrannasaurus Mix And Me
It was a Sunday afternoon and I was on the air at the MIX. Those 6 hour shifts were killers. Hit songs would show up at least twice in the rotation and it could get to be on the tedious side if one let it. It was a challenge to make it fun and exciting even when it was dull and felt too long. So it was always nice to have something to look forward to, to break up the day. Like a shift change for news anchors or someone dropping in off hours to use a production studio. Just a hello – a reminder that there’s life, and listeners, out there.
On this particular Sunday, the station’s mascot costume was being dropped off after an event. The mascot was a hideous thing with a giant head-piece that was so well enclosed, it came equipped with its own battery operated fan to keep the wearer’s head cool. Still, the interns and volunteers who wore it all complained that it never quite dried out and reeked of the sweat of a dozen radio announcer wannabes.
It was a time before automation when we still played music from CD, and when mixing songs was still an art form. A quick phone call told me the costume was bagged and waiting for me downstairs. At the start of the next song – which was in the neighbourhood of 4 minutes long – I scooted down the long flight of stairs outside the studio to the street below. As I opened the door I caught a glimpse of the intern running off instead of helping me, as he should have done. The fool had dropped the giant bag just out of my reach but I thought I could get it without too much trouble. I reached out to my full length and as my toe momentarily strayed from the door – for just a second – I instantly knew I was in trouble. Unfortunately, I misjudged the speed with which the heavy steel door would close. I turned as fast as I could to grab the handle but it was too late. The door clicked shut behind me. (I can still hear the sound in my nightmares.) I was on the street, alone, and a 4 minute song was rapidly playing out in the locked radio station.
I have never moved so fast. I dashed to the building’s front doors, without my access pass, of course, frantically trying to attract the attention of the world’s most sedate security guard. He wasn’t at his post. I banged on the glass doors and screamed until he finally appeared on a walkway overhead. Despite my freak-out state and the fact that he recognized me as an on-air person, he ambled toward me at a snail’s pace. He seemed to understand that I was locked out but he didn’t get the urgency of the situation at all.
Slowly, he unlocked the door and let me in. I tried to explain my predicament as I raced toward the stairs to dash up the single flight but he would have none of it. He pressed the elevator button and waited patiently for the doors to open. “There’s no time for that!” I said. He put up a quieting hand and climbed in as I did the mental math on how much of the song was left to play. None, I calculated.
There was no sense in hurrying anymore. I couldn’t get in without the security guard’s key so I strolled alongside him at the speed of a wedding reception line until he unlocked the station door. Then I escalated to cheetah mode again.
By the time I reached the control room there was dead air. My habit of always loading an extra CD paid off as I dove for the board and hit the button. I sat back and waited for the storm. None came. Surprisingly, no one called to complain about the sound of silence. The Program Director’s hotline, or bat-phone, did not ring. I composed myself and carried on realizing that the expensive costume was still out on the street, bagged and ready for pick-up. By that point, I figured it would keep until the end of my shift.
