Broadcasting Schools-Inside traxx: Diary of DJ Sisyphus

Broadcasting Schools & Betrayal

As I went to meet Keisha for coffee the next afternoon, my little Sisyphus world was in turmoil. A competitor's business card was burning a hole in my pocket, and another girl's kiss felt imprinted on my cheek. I felt every inch the Iago of broadcasting schools, saying one thing to one person and another to the next. I needed to get my mind right. “Be cool, Simon,” I said to myself as I caught sight of Keisha, looking lovely in a red blouse and woven braids. “She doesn't know anything about Lucy or last night.”

And as I drew closer, I really believed she didn't. Nothing in her brown sparkly eyes or warm smile implied that her father the Reverend had mentioned seeing me with another girl at a wedding last night. At least, she didn't fling her machiatto on the floor and shriek, “The broadcasting school receptionist? How could you?!” like I feared she might.

Quite the contrary. “Hi Simon,” Keisha said calmly, flashing the dimple in her left cheek. “How have you been? How's broadcasting school going?”

“Oh…broadcasting school's cool,” I said nonchalantly, despite visions of Heineken dancing in my head. “How was Honduras?”

“Great!” Keisha said enthusiastically. “We built 8 shelters for displaced women and children, and at night we held huge campfires on the beach.”

“Wow,” I said, drawn against my will to the way her face lit up when she described her mission work. “That's really awesome, Keisha.”

“I appreciate you meeting me here today Simon,” Keisha said, dropping her gaze. “To be honest, once I heard you were a big-time DJ in broadcasting school and all, I didn't know if you'd have time to go out on dates.” “Is that what this is?” I asked, surprising myself.

Keisha met my gaze directly. “That's what I want it to be,” she said evenly. I wanted to respond, but my mouth felt like it was full of cotton candy. What happened to all those articulation exercises they taught me in broadcasting school? But though Kiesha seemed so sweet, her past trangressions still weighed on my mind. “What about that other guy?”

“What about that other guy?” Kiesha parroted innocently, putting her hand over mine. I stared at our two palms, both wound around my double grande Americano. I gulped. “I mean, I just don't know if I can trust you,” I stammered.

“Well I guess I could say the same to you,” Keisha replied. “Unless that girl you were with at the wedding last night was your broadcasting school sponsor or something.”

At her words I am almost choked on a mouthful of foam. “You know about that?” “Simon,” said Keisha dismissively waving a hand. “Of course. Did you think my dad wasn't going to tell me? He's a Reverend, not a priest. It's not like he's sworn to secrecy or anything.”

“Why didn't he say anything to me?” I demanded.

Keisha shrugged. “I don't know, it's not like you and I are engaged….yet,” she said coyly, peeking up at me. She moved even closer, until I could smell the cinnamon of her gum. “So now that we are even, what do you say we forgive and forget?” She reached over and started rubbing my neck, but something in me made me jerk away. The whole thing just felt so calculated; I felt like I had been tricked or trapped. I needed to get out of there. “Look Keisha, I gotta go,” I said, abruptly rising and tossing my coffee in the trash. “I'm going to be late for broadcasting school.”

As I pounded down the street, my head was a mess. Just as I turned the familiar corner near my broadcasting school, my cell phone rang. “Hmmm,” I thought. I didn't recognize the ring tone. “Hello?” I said, cautiously, wondering what else this day could possibly bring.

“Simon?” came a voice. “It's Mr. Simmons.” I blinked. I hadn't even had the nerve to call the number on the guy's business card, and here he was calling me! He must have looked up my old resume…excitement started to pour through me, but I remained composed as I walked through the broadcasting school doors. This wasn't exactly ethical, after all, talking to another broadcasting station while interning at another. But then, that was pretty much the story of my life right now.

“Listen I wondered if you could come by on Sat for a few hours?” Mr. Simmons said.

“I'm having a few friends over, and I thought maybe you could come by, as sort of a test run. I don't want to jump into anything, but I think if things go well, we may use you regularly in the future. What do you say?”

For the second time that day, I found myself speechless. “Sure,” I said. “I'll do it.” “Great, see you then!” and with a click, our broadcasting school competitor hung up.

“It's no big deal,” I told myself as I entered the reception door. “What do I really have to lose?” But as I caught sight of Lucy, the broadcasting school receptionist with the Heineken green eyes, blowing me a kiss from her phone call, I already knew the answer.