Oklahoma Arbitron: Just how dumb are you folks? | Street Jazz

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Oklahoma Arbitron: Just how dumb are you folks?

Posted By on Wed, Sep 24, 2014 at 9:47 PM

t has been going on for several days now, and I’m pretty sure they will call again tomorrow.

“Hello,” one of us will answer.

“Hello,” and the spiel begins, as the caller explains that they are with Arbitron, the invaluable rating service which tells the world how well local radio stations are doing.

You explain that you don’t actually live here, but are are just getting the house ready for an estate sale, that it is in probate, and that you don’t actually live here, but live millions and millions of miles way, in Fayetteville, Arkansas - and believe me, the longer you are here, the further away Fayetteville seems.

But still, they call.

Like a stalker who has gotten your phone number from the friend of a friend of a friend, they keep calling.

So tonight, while Tracy is napping in an easy chair and I am unwinding, watching the premiere episode of Black-ish, starring the great Lawrence Fishburne, the phone rings again.

“Hello?” I say.


“Hello?” A little louder.

A louder silence.


And then it comes again. “Steve” from Arbitron is calling.

Wearily, but ever so politely, I explain to “Steve” that we don’t live here, but that the house is in probate, and we are . . . etc. etc. etc.

“So it’s a vacation home?”

I refrain from screaming, “No, you moron!” Instead, I explain yet again that the house is in probate . . . and then, with perhaps less politeness than I had shown in previous conversations with his brethren, add that I could spell probate if he needed me to.

No, that was okay.

“So you won’t call again?”

“Well, I’ll put you on the list, but I can’t promise we won’t call.”

I’ll be waiting for you, Steve.


Quote of the Day

It had been drilled into us that when an audience pays to see a performance, it is entitled to the best performance you can give. Nothing in your personal life must interfere, neither fatigue, illness, nor anxiety - not even joy. - Lillian Gish


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