So I finally get a paying gig where I’m supposed do voice-over bits for various radio stations all over the country, which I’m psyched about. The only problem is the gig requires that I have a land line phone. So yesterday I call up Verizon and order a land line. I then call up the voice-over booking place and tell them I’m ready to go, and they book me for two radio stations to call this morning. But when I hook up my phone it doesn’t work. Apparently it takes 3 business days for service to get turned on. Now I have two radio stations to call with no phone.
So I go to my gym to let some steam off. While doing a few squat thrust lunges I try to think of various ways to get access to a land line. Maybe I could sneak into my old office? Or shimmy over the ledge into my neighbors apartment? Or why don’t I hold up Verizon at gun point and demand that they turn on my phone immediately? (Desperate times call for desperate measures.) And then it hits me, why don’t I make the calls from THE GYM? So I ask the manager at the gym in the least creepy way possible if I can borrow their office phones to make some calls to a few radio stations in the morning. Amazingly he says yes.
And so this morning, I get up at 6 am, go to my gym, explain the same scenario to a woman at the counter who has no idea what I’m talking about, convince her to let me borrow somebody’s office by saying “Tony OK’d last night”, and call up WVKS in Toledo. Andrew Z, the morning DJ, instructs me that I am to act like a husband who has read his wife’s diary without her consent. And then we go live, and I play the husband. And some actress who is playing my wife, and is probably calling from who knows what other city (but probably not from a gym), starts yelling at me for reading her diary. And then a lot of angry housewives from Toledo call up the station and yell at me. But I don’t care since I finally have a paying gig (though not much pay). And when it’s over I hang up, thank the woman at the counter, and then leave the gym.
Then at 11 am I do it all over again. Only this time I call WWMX in Baltimore. JoJo, the DJ there, instructs me to act like a little league baseball coach who is outraged at a new rule that requires little-leaguers to wear goggles and a face mask. And so I do. And that’s that. Just a typical day at the office. Or in this case, gym. And without even breaking a sweat.