Jeffrey Alan Payne - Doczine

Cam interjected, “Some bloggers are speculating that the grandparents will get them.”That’s when Jim delivered his first contribution to our downward professional spiral. In avoice that sounded like Michael Jackson as a five year old, he said, “Grandpa, daddyand I always play with each other before I go to bed.”There was a split second where we all went silent and looked at each other. We sharedan inaudible telepathic “Ooh. We’re going to hear about that one in the post-showmeeting”.Our Program Director was used to receiving complaints. He actually hired an assistantwho spent time every day responding to complaints. When you’re trying to be fresh,edgy and funny, appealing to an 18 to 34 predominantly male audience, you sometimespush the fringes of taste a bit. However, large corporate broadcast companies aren’tvery receptive to complaints about jokes insinuating the diddling of young boys. Thepublic isn’t either, especially when you’re attacking a dead North American icon, beforehis body even gets cold.We quickly moved on. Cam triggered our standard phone ringing sound effect. I wasalways the voice that answered, and Jim and Cam usually played the characters.“Good Morning. 93 Rock.”The voice of an adult African American replied, which was actually Jim. Cam wasstanding back from his microphone, so it would sound as if he was yelling in thebackground.“Yeah. Who’s talkin’?”“This is 93 Rock in Toronto. Who’s this?”“This is Tito Jackson.”This was to be another instrumental step the incremental deconstruction of ourbroadcast careers. “Tito where are you now?”“I’m down in N’Orleans with Marlin.”“What are you guys doing down there?”Then came the second series of comments that would throw us out of the frying pan andinto a smelting furnace.“We’re stripping copper wirin’ out of some abandoned homes down here.”“What are you doing that for?”“We’re taking it to the scrap yard. Try to get a little money, so’s we can go down, buysome Olde English 800.”9