Jeffrey Alan Payne - Doczine

“You want to smoke a joint?” He said it casually, like he wanted to know if I used milk orcream in my coffee.“Uh, not right now, I have to try to not have too much dead air on my first night. Wheredo you do that?”“Up on the roof,” he gestured to a trap door by the transmitter. He looked at the TV tosee that commercials had come on and said, “Come on, I’ll show you.”Careful to insure that my record still had plenty of time on it, I followed him up a ladderthat folded out of the trap door opening. We climbed out onto a flat tar roof thatoverlooked enough of the street to make you feel as if you had a secret lookout vantagepoint. It was private and quiet, lest for the slight hum emitting from the transmitterantennae at one corner of the roof.“Yeah, I come out here and smoke one after the shift, watch David Letterman and do myproduction. I look forward to this roof every night; it’s going to suck in the wintertime. Imight end up snapping Wookie’s neck one night, because of a claustrophobic anxietyattack.”“I don’t think anyone would much care anyway,” I knew he would commiserate.“Yeah. Ron has Wookie around because he does all of Ron’s work. Wookie is the leasttalented man I’ve ever worked with in radio, and I’ve worked in some tiny little shitholes.”He lit the joint, “Wookie idolizes Derek Kent at Rock 101 in Knoxville. If Derek thought itwas a good idea to put polka music on the air, Wookie would have us playing it everyhour.”“Did you know that Ron Jeremy is the name of a porn star? He apparently has about atwo-foot dink.”“I thought I was the only one that knew that,” he slapped his leg in laughter, “By the way,if it’s two feet, it’s not a dink. It qualifies as a dong.”“Well his definitely qualifies for donghood,” I looked at my watch, “Ah shit man. I got togo. Styx is just about to run out on me.”“Cool.” He puffed the joint and looked out at a couple of drunk guys getting out of a cab,“Good luck with that.”I scurried back down the ladder and returned to the studio, just as Styx hit the final chordof “Suite Madam Blue”. I put on the headphones and talked pretty fluently, feeling gladthat I hadn’t taken Jim up on smoking that joint.When the next song began, I thought about my situation. It included a new apartment, anetwork of family support, a new radio station with a format I liked, and unlimitedpossibilities for potential free stuff and groupie love. Finally, I had this work mate whoseemed like a cool guy; I could get along with him. It occurred to me what a difference itwould have made if it turned out I had to face some arrogant, pompous, people-skillchallenged prima donna every night.31