Years ago, I had a nifty pair of folding sunglasses. I inadvertently left its protective case in a taxicab in Las Vegas.
A few weeks later, back home in Los Angeles, a local radio station offered a prize to the first caller who could answer a particular music trivia question.
The prize? A pair of folding sunglasses.
I didn’t need the sunglasses, but I thought, “I’ll bet they come with a protective case.”
And I knew the answer to the music trivia question. What luck; I rarely listen to this particular station.
I grabbed the phone, dialed the station’s number a few times, and found myself talking to the morning host.
Off-air, I correctly answered the question,
“That’s right!” he exclaimed. “Hold on a minute; I’m gonna put you on-the-air. What’s your name?”
“Dan,” I said.
I knew that at the end of the call he’d ask me, “What is your favorite radio station?”
I knew what station I was listening to. But wanting to be a “good” contestant, I actually wrote down the station’s name on a piece of paper in front of me. There’d be no chance of my forgetting.
The song ended.
I was on-the-air with the jock.
He asked the trivia question.
I gave the correct answer.
The jock acted excited, described the prize again, and congratulated me.
I knew what was coming. He was going to ask, “What is your favorite radio station?”
I waited for it.
Sure enough, the jock finally asked:
“So, Dan….Who is your favorite morning DJ??”
I had absolutely no idea.
Not a clue.
After the longest silence in the history of American radio, finally I blurted out, “You are!”