Terry Tarrant: Radio head (case)

COMMENT


Listening to my car radio is going to be the death of me.

Contrary to the opinions of work colleagues I consider myself to be a reasonable man, even of temperament and fair-minded. Of course, it all falls apart most days.

It starts when I get in my car to go to work and turn on the radio programmed to stations that I consider equal to my intellect. I start with National Radio. This proves to be my first mistake.

It happens to be an interview with an MP. The MP has been accused of misappropriation of Government grants.

Agitated, I switch radio channels. This is my second mistake.

I am now listening to a top-rated commercial radio station. The time is now 7.58am and for the next 120 seconds I am being shouted at by in-your-face commercials.

This I tolerate with a sense of superiority; I certainly won't be sucked in to buying that, that or that.

Now it is 8am and there is a 10-second news-bite by someone breathlessly announcing another terrorist suicide attack in the outskirts of Baghdad leaving 17 dead and 75 injured.

Suddenly, as if it was a continuation of the news item, I am listening to a 25-second commercial.

Golden opportunity to buy an apartment in the latest development overlooking the harbour, the Sky Tower and right in the heart of the CBD. An investment you will never regret. (Yeah right, until the next-door property developer builds a 30-floor monstrosity blocking sun and view.) What, I ask myself, is the connection between terrorism in the Middle East and the sale of apartments in Auckland City - other than it being crass commercialism?

Frustrated, I indiscriminately stab at the radio channel buttons and create a cacophony of gibberish.

Such is my distraction I run a red light and receive a traffic infringement notice. My day is already disintegrating.

Later in the afternoon, returning to work from a business appointment, I switch the radio to a parliamentary debate. This is my third mistake.

My psychiatrist warned me against this. He maintains listening to Parliament puts me under stress levels that could make me unstable. He advised I listen to talkback instead. The man is mad, of course.

After 10 minutes of listening to Parliament I have counted 15 spurious points of order by MPs, nine outbursts of jeers and guffaws, 23 demands for order by the Speaker and two politicians ejected from the debating chamber.

In this 10 minutes of sound and fury signifying nothing the politicians have cost the taxpayers $70,000 to orchestrate the debacle. Now, bordering on apoplexy, I should have driven home. Instead, I make my fourth mistake and return to work, ignoring the number of fingers gesticulated by other motorists.

In the company carpark I turn off the radio, lock the car and end up in my office with a tangle of phone messages.

Five minutes later the receptionist advises me my vehicle has rolled back into the general manager's BMW and would I please remove it once I figure out how to extract my tow-bar from his grille and radiator.

Tomorrow I will disconnect my car radio.

* Terry Tarrant is a reader from Blockhouse Bay.