On disdaining your audience: A study in disillusionment
The EL is a bit creepy at 6 in the morning.
That's when I'm coming home from the overnight shift at the radio station. The train alternates completely empty cars (my ultimate prize) with seats full of the silent and vacant eyed. They're mostly hispanic immigrants or blacks, on their way home from third shift janitorial or security jobs. Or on their way to the early morning janitorial or security shift. I'm not being racist. I recognize the uniforms. And I recognize the quiet resignation of someone who does the job that nobody else wants.
Honest moment: I have frequently fought the urge to stand up in the middle of a car full of fellow hispanics and yell "I'm not like you. I'm a professional! I may look like you, I may work the same hours as you, but I have a job that people respect...I'm not like you." It's an ugly impulse.
This morning my early morning compatriots and I sat in our usual mute contemplations. Oblivious to everything except our own thoughts and private views of a darkened downtown Chicago. It's an almost oppressively hushed environment.
Except for the guy two seats over who's walkman was so loud that the music he was listening to escaped his headphones and echoed throughout the car.
I glanced sideways at the window I was staring out of (I wasn't really looking out the window, I was just watching my own face mirrored in the Plexiglas) to catch the reflection of this inconsiderate savage who dared violate our nearly contractual silence. Overweight white guy in his late 30s, bad goatee, bundled in a collection of flannel shirts and a jean jacket straight from 1989. The music was so loud that I was able to clearly make out the song.
Beastie Boys. Time to get Ill.
"Oh shit," I sighed "He's listening to Q101."
The station I had just left overflows with the Beastie Boys. At least once an hour I have to play a track and make it sound like I'm thrilled that they're coming up next. It's ridiculous. I don't know who decided that All-Beasties-All-The-Time was a great programming move, but it couldn't be more perfectly designed to annoy the fuck out of me. I mean, I like the Beastie Boys okay...Just not all the goddamn time.
I decide to sneak another peek at this cretin.
"Oh yeah, that's a classic Q101 listener for ya'," I thought "Jesus, what a fucking slob." I look down at my overlarge winter coat and congratulate myself on not wearing my station jacket. "I bet it'd fucking thrill the shit out of this guy to know he's sitting next to a real, live, Q101 DJ. He was probably listening to me earlier, he's probably like all the other fucks who call in and think I'd go out with them, or shit like that. What a 'tard."
The song ended, and I could clearly catch the "bullet" (the little sound effect thingy where pre-recorded guys with big ballsy voices tell you how cool the station you're listening to is) between songs.
He wasn't listening to Q101. In fact, he was listening to our major competitor.
I looked back out the window.
For once I wasn't watching my reflection, or even the shadowy buildings and streets whizzing by.
I was blind all the way to Sedgewick.
That's when I'm coming home from the overnight shift at the radio station. The train alternates completely empty cars (my ultimate prize) with seats full of the silent and vacant eyed. They're mostly hispanic immigrants or blacks, on their way home from third shift janitorial or security jobs. Or on their way to the early morning janitorial or security shift. I'm not being racist. I recognize the uniforms. And I recognize the quiet resignation of someone who does the job that nobody else wants.
Honest moment: I have frequently fought the urge to stand up in the middle of a car full of fellow hispanics and yell "I'm not like you. I'm a professional! I may look like you, I may work the same hours as you, but I have a job that people respect...I'm not like you." It's an ugly impulse.
This morning my early morning compatriots and I sat in our usual mute contemplations. Oblivious to everything except our own thoughts and private views of a darkened downtown Chicago. It's an almost oppressively hushed environment.
Except for the guy two seats over who's walkman was so loud that the music he was listening to escaped his headphones and echoed throughout the car.
I glanced sideways at the window I was staring out of (I wasn't really looking out the window, I was just watching my own face mirrored in the Plexiglas) to catch the reflection of this inconsiderate savage who dared violate our nearly contractual silence. Overweight white guy in his late 30s, bad goatee, bundled in a collection of flannel shirts and a jean jacket straight from 1989. The music was so loud that I was able to clearly make out the song.
Beastie Boys. Time to get Ill.
"Oh shit," I sighed "He's listening to Q101."
The station I had just left overflows with the Beastie Boys. At least once an hour I have to play a track and make it sound like I'm thrilled that they're coming up next. It's ridiculous. I don't know who decided that All-Beasties-All-The-Time was a great programming move, but it couldn't be more perfectly designed to annoy the fuck out of me. I mean, I like the Beastie Boys okay...Just not all the goddamn time.
I decide to sneak another peek at this cretin.
"Oh yeah, that's a classic Q101 listener for ya'," I thought "Jesus, what a fucking slob." I look down at my overlarge winter coat and congratulate myself on not wearing my station jacket. "I bet it'd fucking thrill the shit out of this guy to know he's sitting next to a real, live, Q101 DJ. He was probably listening to me earlier, he's probably like all the other fucks who call in and think I'd go out with them, or shit like that. What a 'tard."
The song ended, and I could clearly catch the "bullet" (the little sound effect thingy where pre-recorded guys with big ballsy voices tell you how cool the station you're listening to is) between songs.
He wasn't listening to Q101. In fact, he was listening to our major competitor.
I looked back out the window.
For once I wasn't watching my reflection, or even the shadowy buildings and streets whizzing by.
I was blind all the way to Sedgewick.
posted by Karla at 5:05 PM
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