Life is often filled with little
regrets. Some are generally harmless. For example, I am not proud of
the outfit I wore in high school that involved purple pants. Other
regrets are a little more significant. For example, that outfit also
involved suspenders.
Little regrets can linger in your mind,
partnered with the popular refrain: “if only I could go back and do
it over...” These regrets are not earth-shattering, but they do
serve as a welcome reminder that you are, in fact, capable of making
some pretty stupid decisions. For me, one such incident occurred
during my stint as a deejay at my college radio station.
I stumbled onto the airwaves through a
deft combination of pure luck and dumb luck. My voice was somehow
approved for radio broadcast, despite the fact that, to this day,
people over the phone call me “ma'am” (I think I passed puberty
on a technicality.)
I started out small, running the
Classical Hour, a weekly bloc when the station managers threw caution
to the wind and allowed classical music to be aired. I got the gig by
being both a student in the music department and the only person on
campus willing to take the position.
After showing off my chops by rocking
the airwaves with Beethoven and Vivaldi, I finally broke through and
got to host other shows, usually working with some of my friends. It
was a lot of fun, but there was one show that should have turned out
a lot better than it did. It was Super Bowl Sunday, and my co-host
and I decided to put together a big show to lure an audience –
something larger than the roughly zero people who listened to us in
the first place.
Of course, nobody was going to listen
to us during the game, so we set up a big halftime show. My friend
managed to snag some free stuff to give away, and we put posters all
around campus. The stage was set. All we had to do was put on an
exciting show, give away prizes, and take advantage of the ratings
bonanza to let students know our awesome show was on every Sunday
night. It couldn't fail.
So here's how it failed. The second
quarter ended. My co-host and I came right on the air, filled with
excitement and ready for our first big giveaway; it was probably just
a crappy t-shirt, but never underestimate the appeal of free stuff to
a college student. We asked a simple trivia question and told people
to call in to win. Sure enough, the lines lit up. People were
listening! Success!
I picked up the first line, heard the
correct answer, and awarded the first prize. That should have been
it. All I had to say was “Congratulations and thanks for
listening,” and the show would go on! Instead, I went with: “Can
we play something for you?”
We were already limited in time, and we
needed to make every minute count. Yet something inside of me
decided: let's take requests! The caller paused for a moment, and
said, “Sure – how about Stairway to Heaven?” Eager to please
and clearly incapable of thinking, I said, “okay!” I cued the
song up without my co-host having any idea what was going on. So,
when the song we were playing ended, I fired up an eight-minute song
that does a slow burn for the first seven.
As the opening strain began, the
reality of the situation struck my co-host and she turned her head in
my direction. I don't recall if she actually said, “what the heck
are you doing?” or if that was merely how I interpreted the stare
of death shooting out from her face. Either way, eight agonizing
minutes later, halftime was over, the game was back on, and any
chance we had of winning a repeat audience faded into oblivion.
Admittedly, this hardly qualifies as my
biggest regret in life – it probably isn't even in the top fifty.
Still, it feels good to get it off my chest. To my co-host, I offer a
belated apology. If only I could go back and do it over...
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