So, here I am, at the Los Angeles County Fair, working the 97.1 Free FM tent. I get roped into these events occasionally, when someone else isn’t able to cover their shift. It’s an easy gig — we sit here, we talk to people about the station, we smile and laugh at their jokes, then we give them some freebies.
Today I had, by far, the strangest conversation I’ve had with a listener yet.
He approaches the booth. He’s a portly, balding man, about five foot and a half. He seems cheerful enough in his demeanor — enough so that you’d smile and say hi. I do so. He looks around the booth, and then over the side wall, down into our coveted “prize bin.” He spies a large pile of empty 97.1 Free FM bags.
“What’s in the bags,” he casually ponders. I smile, yet again.
“They’re just bags.” The man squints at me, accusingly. He sneers a little bit.
“Just bags? They’re empty?” Incredulous. That’s weird.
“That’s right, sir. They’re prize bags.” Satisfied with my explanation, I smile again — that’s three smiles so far. He’s definitely in the hole on politeness. I expect a firm handshake when he leaves.
“Why would you have empty bags?” He sneers again, and accuses again. This is becoming a trend. And we’re trending in the opposite direction I’d want us to. I start looking around the booth, nervously.
“To put prizes in, when we give them out. Or to give people that might need to carry stuff. Do you have any stuff to carry?” See, I’m being helpful. Combine that with the unrequited politeness, and this guy is going to actually owe me money.
“No.” He peers further over the wall. I’m not sure what’s he hoping to see back here. Maybe I’ve got the ultra super prize tucked up under the side wall, and the only way to win it is to see it. Maybe it’s a little dude, and you have to guess his name, and then he gives you his backpack. I don’t know. I start to wish I had that little prize troll back here; maybe it would get this guy to leave me alone.
He’s beginning to get impatient at this point. And I’m getting desperate. Obviously, he’s not buying my clever ploy to keep all the prizes. I feel around in random bags next to my chair. Finally, thankfully, I find a pair of sunglasses. I yank them out of the bag, and thrust them towards the sky. “Sunglasses. Free FM sunglasses.” Ugh. Now I have to do it. I don’t want to do it. Dear. God. No. Okay, fine. I smile. The man eyes the glasses suspiciously.
“I don’t want those.” Wait for it. Yes, there it is. He sneers. Fantastic. And just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving me holding the glasses.
Stupid glasses.