You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Wasting time.
I have just spent the last 4 hours sitting in a news car.
While sitting here I have seen 20 airplanes fly over head. I have been stared at by a dozen old women who have probably called the police.
Four wasted hours!
I could have flown to Vegas in the same time.
I could have knit a pair of socks for a oranguatang.
I could have taken the SAT, failed it, and signed up to take it again.
Why have I wasted four hours of my life?
We are waiting for a woman who was victimized by burglars.
As the story goes, she was coming home and they were exiting her house.
She was stupefied as they left quickly, aggressively.
The young men reportedly even spoke to her as they darted away.
“Hey old lady. How’s it hanging?”
As it turns out, these young men are suspects in 3 other burglaries in the neighborhood.
the woman is scared. But I have convinced her to talk. She will tell me her story if I hide her identity.
I agree.
So as not to draw attention to her, we park a mile from her house.
We are parked on the side of the road.
We are bored to tears. We have been here for hours. The radio is on. We are watching the news on our phones. We are texting and emailing and checking sports scores.
We talk about life. We talk about ex girlfriends.
My camera man shows me his Tinder Account.
“Try this?”
Tinder?
It’s like a young man’s social dating site.
Some say it’s a hook up site.
I’m not even sure what that means.
I watch a video. An attractive woman darts around the globe and while in England she sees men who are in the area. She OK’s the men she likes and somehow they hook up.
The end of the story is this slutty chick does a bunch of dudes around the world.
At the end the 1st guy she bangs comes back to her and proposes.
Wow. That’s special.
Is that the new millennium dating you young people are into now?
I laugh.
“Put your Tinder away. That is aggravating me.”
And so it goes.
This part of the job is like being a detective on a stake out.
We are killing time. We are watching our environment, wondering when this woman will finally show up.
At one point, a police officer stops.
I roll down my window.
“You guys ok?” he asks.
I laugh. do we look that bad that a cop has to do a welfare check.
“We are waiting on a lady to interview,” I respond.
“OK. take care.”
I think he’s happy he doesn’t have to get out of his car.
He drives away.
And that is the excitement for the afternoon.
an hour passes. 2 hours pass. Four hours pass.
The woman texts me and says she is tied up in traffic.
No problem, I respond.
Take your time.
I lie. I want her to speed up.
This is laborious.
It is torturous.
I would rather have dental work without anaesthesia.
Car after car drives by us. They must be wondering if the news guys are pulled over on the side of the road having a lover’s quarrel.
“should I call her?”
“yes, call her,” my bored photog says.
I dial. It goes right to voice mail.
“Voice mail,” I say. “That’s a bad sign. You feeling this going South?”
He nods, playing with his phone trying to hook up with Tinder girls.
There’s a beep and I leave a message.
“Ms. Hooper, just wondering if you are close?”
I hang up. I feel nothing but question marks.
“This ain’t gonna happen,” I say. “She’s scared. She said she’d do it, and has been backing off that position ever since.”
I start texting other sources looking for other news while we continue to wait.
My ass is numb. This must be what a relationship longer than 2 years feels like.
I get a call that the Titan’s V.P. Don Maclachlan is fired.
I phone it in to the newsroom.
Ten minutes later, the Titans put out a press release saying the executive of 24 years has resigned.
I am quietly pleased my sources are so fast.
I call more contacts searching for news, but nothing sticks to the wall.
Then the text comes.
“I’m sorry. I won’t be able to talk to you. Please don’t use my name or show my house if you do a report. I hear police are close to making an arrest.”
“God Damn It!” I shout. “She chickened out.”
AAAARRRGGGGHHHH!
“Why couldn’t she have just called us 3 hours ago. We could have avoided all this.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Where to?” My photog says.
“the donut shop.”
He smiles.
Like cops, we go to Krispy Kreme and he orders dinner while I continue to make calls.
The woman from the Animal Control tells me the cold little dog I did a cold story on last week has been released back to the owner who kept in the cold for more than 24 hours.
The woman was charged with animal abuse.
And they give the dog back?
That sucks.
The official says the agency will check up on the animal.
Sure hope the owner learned her lesson, I say.
I check with the FBI and Narcotics agents.
A Metro Cop calls. “We just wrapped up a meth bust at a gas station.”
“That’s different,” I say.
“It’s all wrapped up. I didn’t even think to call you.”
“Aaarghhhh!”
I watch as people with easier jobs, less stressful jobs saunter in and buy donuts and coffee.
Most people think their jobs are arduous.
They’re about as hard as a prisoner doing shots of salt peter.
Some of you go in late, take an hour lunch and leave early.
That’s not a job, people. That’s a dream.
Most days my job is a stick of dynamite ready to explode.
But not having a story on a day like today is often more stressful than the dynamite.
It’s the expectation of them wanting something, anything, to fill a void that is filled with black.
Suddenly the news room calls and says there are back ups on I-65 at the split north of town.
“It’s rolling road blocks to patch pot holes,” the desk says.
I call my source at TDOT.
We’re not doing any night-time pot hole patching I’m told.
I work for idiots.
Where do we get this white noise from?
I don’t care anymore.
I am drowning. I just want to settle down with one story and be done with it. After 7 unproductive hours, I volunteer to do a live shot by the side of the road.
Will there be a traffic snarl?
no.
Will there be pot hole patching?
no.
Is this is a life shot for live shot sake?
yes.
I will say traffic is moving well, but tomorrow it might snow and the trucks used to fix pot holes will be retrofitted for snow removal and salting.
Producers love live shots for live sake.
It is 30 easy seconds for them to fill their show.
I don’t care at this point.
I just want to relax and call 2 hours my own.
It will all soon be over.
I will once again be in the frozen tundra of night staring down at a god forsaken highway.
It’s just so ordinary. So pedestrian. So beneath my abilities.
Yet this is what they have me do.
I am a thoroughbred pulling a plow in a muddy barren field.
My days here are numbered.
Can this really be what it’s all come down to?
I sense bigger brighter days to come.
Even though this interstate is stupid and border line shameful, I am excited.
It’s something. Sometimes something is better than nothing.
The best is yet to come.
Life’s Crazy™