January 24, 2007

The Danger of Recorded Material

Last night I was watching this week’s episode of 24 from our Tivo with my husband. He’s not very good about fast-forwarding through commercials. During a break, there was a little blurb from Fox News about "black ice" and "dangerous driving conditions in the morning." Since I drive Big I to school each morning, I sat straight up and said, "What did they say? I thought it was supposed to be warmer tomorrow."

My husband paused with a smirk on his face before reminding me that we were watching a recorded show from Monday night. "Oh," I said, and then told him that it reminded me of the time when I was a teenager and called the local radio station hoping to be the 25th caller. He hadn’t ever heard that story; it must have been one of the ones I deemed too embarrassing to share, even with him. But the cat was out of the bag, so I continued. . .

I heard the announcement that the station was doing to give away concert tickets to the 25th caller. It was probably for Vanilla Ice, New Kids on the Block, or something equally embarrassing to be admitting. I dialed fast and furiously and the DJ casually answered the phone.

"Am I the 25th caller?" I screamed.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" he said.

"I said, Am I the 25th caller?" I yelled again. I could barely contain my excitement.

Just then, the recorded mix tape of radio songs I had made reached the end and abruptly stopped. I quickly hung up the phone and was too afraid to listen to the radio station that night for fear that they’d be featuring the idiot who called asking about being the 25th caller when that contest had been over for months. I could only hope he hadn’t answered the call live and that if he had, none of my friends would recognize my voice.

My husband lost it and practically shot his drink out his nose. I’m just happy I can provide him (and all of you) with enjoyment at my fragile ego’s expense.