My name is Scott and I work at a well-known local radio station. My radio shift is usually overnights, during a period of time Iāve deemed āThe Dead Zoneā. It runs from 12 midnight to 5:30 AM.
I play classic rock, alternative, punk, and just about anything that catches my ear. Itās quite a mix and, because of that, it makes my job extremely enjoyable. I figure that I must be doing something right because I get more phone calls during my show than any other DJ at the station. Itās one of those late night calls that I want to tell you about.
I was working āThe Dead Zoneā on a cold night in January a couple years ago. It was 2:30 AM and snowing heavily outside. Iād just set up the next hour of music, having taken a dozen or so calls off the hotline. Another eclectic mix of music. Looking at the playlist made me chuckle. All of my favorites were requested and a couple I had to hunt for in the stationās CD library.
After finding the CDs I needed, and cueing up the first few, I grabbed my lunch and went to the lunchroom to heat it up in the microwave. Thereās nothing like a Philly steak and cheese with mushrooms to make you feel like youāre āKing of the Worldā. I nuked my lunch, grabbed a diet soda from the vending machine on the way back (the sandwich defeats the purpose of the soda, I know), and settled in for the rest of my shift on the air.
As I got back to the studio, the hotline was ringing again. Setting down my sandwich and soda, I grabbed the receiver.
āHello. This is āThe Dead Zoneā. What do you want to hear?ā I asked.
A soft, husky female voice said, āI was wondering if you could play āReady For Loveā by Bad Company for me?ā
I grabbed a pad and pen and wrote down the request. I said, āSure, thatās no problem. Do you want me to mention who itās for on the air?ā Sometimes the fans that call in get a thrill when I mention their names on the air. I like doing that, especially with the female callers.
The voice chuckled, the sound of it incredibly melodic and touching me aurally in all the right places.
She said, āSure. My name is Cassie.ā
Smiling, I wrote her name next to the song title she asked for. I said to her then, āCould you hold for a sec? I have to hit the next song.ā She said she would and I put the phone down.
Spinning around, I jabbed my fingers over a variety of buttons on the console, fading the one song and starting the next, speaking into the mic and announcing what was happening. Suddenly, Motorhead blared out of the studio speakers.
I picked up the phone again. āIs there anything else I can do for you, Cassie?ā I asked her, hoping to listen to her beautiful voice for a minute longer.
She said, āWell, yeah. Would you mind terribly if I came down there and watched how the showās done? I listen to your show every night and would like to see how things are thrown together.ā
I grinned. I get these kinds of calls all the time and I usually have to tell the woman (and itās usually a woman who wants to come down and see me do what I do) that station policy doesnāt allow for āJane Averageā to come into the studio when weāre on the air. However, this night, I broke that rule.
Grinning, I said, āWell, the station really doesnāt allow for people to come into the building after a certain time. But, if you really want to see what goes on here, come on down. Are you sure you really want to come down here? The weather isnāt great outside.ā
Cassie laughed and said to me, āI donāt live too far from the station and it wouldnāt really be a tough ride for me. Besides, I have a cell phone with me and can call for help if I need to.ā She sounded extremely amused at my concern for her.
I told her which entrance she needed to come to. I also told her to call me on the hotline once she got here and Iād meet her at that door to let her in.
She agreed and hung up.
Iād been back at the board for a few minutes when I realized that Iād forgotten to ask Cassie what she looked like. I thought randomly that if she looks half as good as she sounds, this might be an interesting shift.
Fifteen minutes went by and then the hotline rang again.
āHello. This is āThe Dead Zoneā. What do you want to hear?ā I asked.
Cassieās voice said, āHello? Itās Cassie. We spoke a few minutes ago.ā
I smiled, āHi Cassie. Where are you?ā
She said, āIām outside the station door. Could you come and let me in?ā
I told her Iād be right there and hung up. I very quickly ran my fingers through my hair. I straightened out my t-shirt and brushed a hand across my jeans. Then I went to the door where Cassie waited for me.
As Iām walking to the door, I see a solitary figure. She stood about 5ā8ā tall, had long, wavy dark hair, and was wearing jeans, boots, and a huge leather bomber jacket against the cold. I saw that she had a shoulder bag over one arm and a white paper bag in her opposite hand.
I was nervous all of a sudden. I always had a āthingā for brunettes, preferring them over blondes and redheads.
I got to the door, threw the lock, and swung it open. āCāmon in, Cassie. You must be freezing,ā I said. She moved past me, saying, āYeah, Iām cold. Thanks.ā
Then she smiled up at me and I almost fell over. Cassie was gorgeous: almond-shaped green eyes under dark lashes and brows, porcelain skin, and a full, sensuous mouth. She had a small, heart-shaped birthmark on her cheek too.
I looked down at her, smiled, and held my hand out, āHi, Iām Scott.ā
She smiled up at me, shaking my hand. āItās a pleasure to meet you, Scott. Thanks for letting me come down to see you,ā she said.
I closed the door, locked it, and said, āI need to get back to the studio. The songās almost over.ā