When people find out that I work for a radio station the conversation immediately goes like this . . .
“Do you talk on the radio?”
“What time are you on?
“10 a.m. to 3 p.m.”
“It must be great to only have to work for five hours a day. I’ll bet your job is awesome. I’ve always wanted to be on the radio.”
First let me say that I work way more than five hours a day and I do a whole lot more than just talk on the radio. As a matter of fact the past yesterday alone involved considerably more than I anticipated when I first enrolled in Broadcast Center in 2000. My day yesterday involved crawling on the floor under desks, pulling up a coworkers shorts, and one lizard that I am positive was a zombie. And somewhere in there I did my shift on the air. I love my job (most days).
We are in a state of regeneration at my station. Employees have left and so that means new employees will be joining our dysfunctional little kindergarten class that we call the radio station. We are taking this opportunity to do some rearranging of the staff. My station is actually two separate buildings. I was in the back building with the sales staff, and the rest of the on-air staff has been in the front building. It was decided that the entire on-air staff would be moved to the front building. The morning show team in one office, the afternoon person in the office next to them, and me in the two-windowed corner office at the front of the building. SWEET! Yesterday what started out as “how do you think I should arrange this office?” turned into THE BIG MOVE. Computers were unplugged. Drawers were emptied. Pictures were taken down from walls. Everything moved to its new home. Computers were again hooked up. New drawers were refilled. Pictures were rehung. In the process I ended up crawling under my co-workers desk to help him run the cords for his computer and get it plugged in. Later we did the same thing with my computer.
Then came the moment when I had to pull up his shorts.
He was carrying an old printer out of my office. His shorts were in desperate need of a belt. The exact moment that his hands became full with the old printer is the exact moment that his shorts decided to try to part ways with his hips and make their slow and agonizing descent toward the floor. He was doing a weird walk, as if he was trying to poop as he walked, when he was, in fact, merely trying to keep his shorts from completely falling around his ankles as his female co-workers watched (and waited to laugh at him). Unable to allow him to be subject to such humiliation, since we was actually doing me a favor, I stopped his odd poop-walk and pulled up his precariously low shorts. Just one of those things you never expect to have to do for a co-worker.
But all of these events were preceded by one little lizard that I am still positive was, in fact, a zombie.
My radio station is in Western Kentucky, just above the Tennessee state line. We get lots of wildlife around the station. Deer, racoon, opossum, turkey, and lizards. Yes, lizards. The like to hang out in the sun on the front porch and eat bugs. They are little and adorable, and they scamper all over the place. We have several baby lizards running around this year, and Wednesday one of the babies got inside. I tried to scoop him up and get him back outside because I knew he would die if he stayed inside. No bugs inside for him to eat. But those little lizards scamper like sugared-up kids on Halloween after hitting the candy bag hard. I resigned myself to finding his little lifeless lizard body one day. That day was yesterday.
I walked into the production room yesterday morning to record some commercials and there on the floor, belly up and all four legs askew, was the dead body of the little lizard. It was sad. I went to my desperately-in-need-of-a-belt co-worker and told him that there was a dead lizard. He said, “how do you know it’s not just sleeping?”
“He’s not sleeping. He’s belly up. He’s not moving. He’s dead.”
“He’s just sleeping. I sleep belly up. The lizard is just trying to catch a few zzz’s.”
“He’s not sleeping. He’s dead. What do I do with a dead lizard?” Lizard carcass disposal was not covering in any of m classes in radio school.
My co-worker proved to be unsympathetic to my plight, so I grabbed a file folder and piece of paper. Using the paper I scooped the poor deceased little lizard onto the file folder. I was going to take him outside and let him become one with the little lizard earth. I didn’t want to flush him, or just throw him in the garbage. As I was carrying the lizard-laden folder out of the production room I was also searching for any signs of life . . . shallow breathing, leg twitches, anything. Nothing. I showed this poor little lizard to our receptionist. We tried nudging him a bit to see if there was any response. Again, nothing. I made my way to the front door where the folder bumped up against the door frame.
The slight jolt of the folder hitting up again the door frame was enough to immediately make the little dead lizard flip over like he had springs on his back and run for his life. He fell off of the folder, landed on the concrete porch, and took off running like an Olympic sprinter.
He was dead. He was not breathing. He was blinking his eyes. He was dead! And then he wasn’t dead anymore! He was a zombie lizard. Thursday was the best day ever at work.
I came home from work, and when my husband asked how my day was, I regaled him with my adventures. He looked at me and said, “a zombie lizard? I can’t top that.”
Crawling under desks. Pulling up my co-workers shorts. Zombie lizards. It was just another day in radio.
Until next time . . .