DJs are People Too

Most of us must have dreams
when we're kids of being a
radio disc jockey. Oh, how
glamorous it must appear
to have your voice fill up
the air for miles around,
how on top of the world
we must imagine a DJ feels.
If only we could see the
reality of the situation,
more of us would call
radio studios just to say,
"You know, I understand
how alone you must feel
right now, the sole person
in that empty place, no one
to talk to or commiserate with.
I just wanted say Thank You
for being there. Your
solitude means a lot to all
of us." Glamorous, hah!
I've never been more alone
than when I had my own
radio show (OK, maybe
marriage was a close second).
Sure, you feel somewhat
almighty commanding
the airwaves, but when
the mic switches off and
you're sitting alone again
in an empty room with the
clock ticking, or when your
shift is over and you're alone
in your car on your way home
listening to some other lonely
DJ, the glamor is all gone.
The only people who have
the courage to call you are
usually calling to complain,
or to ask, "What happened
to Ella Fitzgerald?" or some
such nonsense. I reckon that's
why so many radio people
end up butchering hogs
and talking trash on-air--
in attempt to keep from
going insane. Or maybe as
a sign to the world--a cry
for help, if you will--that
they already went insane. So, next time
you're basking in that odd
satisfaction that only radio
can bring and the DJ
stumbles on a word or
says something that reminds
you they're actually really
human, pick up the phone
and let them know you're
listening and that your
life is richer because of them.
This way, maybe we can
prevent a few of the future
Sterns, Limbaughs, and Larsons.

(2006)