todayiamadaisy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
todayiamadaisy) wrote2006-12-05 09:19 pm
todayiamadaisy) wrote2006-12-05 09:19 pm
Entry tags:
Morale unboosted all round
I did my penultimate weekly radio spot today. I went in feeling positive about going fortnightly, had quite a good day, considering, and left with my mind made up to leave at the end of the roster in January. It's just worn me down.
As predicted, the Past & Present people have come to (metaphorical) blows: Radical Irena and Bearded Bernie have had a disagreement about the new program's focus, resulting in Bernie quitting in a fit of pique (and the scary thing about that is, having heard about the dispute, I agree with Bernie. Fortunately it's none of my business, so I can keep that to myself). Even some of Irena's Radicals, who were so keen to shake things up, seem a little disgruntled at the moment.
So Bernie has returned to the news - on Tuesdays, of course. If you please, a round of applause for the evil genius who thought it would be a good idea to put him on the same day as the program he has just left is recorded. When I arrived this morning, he was engaged in a debate with one of the Radicals about - and, I swear, his arguments are getting odder - pre-printed running sheets, of all things. We have to do running sheets for the program, you see; they list who was on, the date, the stories we ran, time allowed for them, and so on. We keep a stack of blank running sheets, ready to just pick up and fill in. The information on them is prescribed either by the Broadcasting Act, which forces us to keep records in case of complaints, or by the needs of running the program to schedule. There is absolutely nothing on them to cause dispute. And yet...
"I don't think we should write our names on the running sheets," Bernie told me when I came in, and the Radical at the photocopier rolled her eyes.
This was easy to sort. It's the law, and there's no two ways about it. I told him that, but it seems I had misunderstood. He doesn't have a problem with putting his name on the sheet at all; he just doesn't want to write it.
"I think it would be better for morale if we printed it off the printer when we come in, you know, personalised sheets. Neater, too."
He had already been round and badgered the station co-ordinator to let him use her computer to indulge this whim (I suspect she obliged just to get him out of the way) and he waved a set of customised running sheets at me, with my name typed in as Presenter, his as Reader and the Elders as Producers.
"It seems quicker to write it," I began carefully, before being interrupted.
"It's for morale! Does people good to see their name in print. Good for the ego, you know."
"I've told him, there's no ego here. We leave our egos at the door," said the Radical, an attractive older woman (about as old as, ooh, Bernie) in a long, blue, sequinned kaftan. That wasn't how I was going to kill this idea, but whatever works, I suppose. And it did work, sort of.
"Well, Christine, I was just trying to help, you know, support... people," huffed Bernie. "But if writing it makes you happy..." He looked so crushed as Radical Christine left that I didn't have the heart to tell him that he had failed to boost my morale after spelling my name wrong.
As predicted, the Past & Present people have come to (metaphorical) blows: Radical Irena and Bearded Bernie have had a disagreement about the new program's focus, resulting in Bernie quitting in a fit of pique (and the scary thing about that is, having heard about the dispute, I agree with Bernie. Fortunately it's none of my business, so I can keep that to myself). Even some of Irena's Radicals, who were so keen to shake things up, seem a little disgruntled at the moment.
So Bernie has returned to the news - on Tuesdays, of course. If you please, a round of applause for the evil genius who thought it would be a good idea to put him on the same day as the program he has just left is recorded. When I arrived this morning, he was engaged in a debate with one of the Radicals about - and, I swear, his arguments are getting odder - pre-printed running sheets, of all things. We have to do running sheets for the program, you see; they list who was on, the date, the stories we ran, time allowed for them, and so on. We keep a stack of blank running sheets, ready to just pick up and fill in. The information on them is prescribed either by the Broadcasting Act, which forces us to keep records in case of complaints, or by the needs of running the program to schedule. There is absolutely nothing on them to cause dispute. And yet...
"I don't think we should write our names on the running sheets," Bernie told me when I came in, and the Radical at the photocopier rolled her eyes.
This was easy to sort. It's the law, and there's no two ways about it. I told him that, but it seems I had misunderstood. He doesn't have a problem with putting his name on the sheet at all; he just doesn't want to write it.
"I think it would be better for morale if we printed it off the printer when we come in, you know, personalised sheets. Neater, too."
He had already been round and badgered the station co-ordinator to let him use her computer to indulge this whim (I suspect she obliged just to get him out of the way) and he waved a set of customised running sheets at me, with my name typed in as Presenter, his as Reader and the Elders as Producers.
"It seems quicker to write it," I began carefully, before being interrupted.
"It's for morale! Does people good to see their name in print. Good for the ego, you know."
"I've told him, there's no ego here. We leave our egos at the door," said the Radical, an attractive older woman (about as old as, ooh, Bernie) in a long, blue, sequinned kaftan. That wasn't how I was going to kill this idea, but whatever works, I suppose. And it did work, sort of.
"Well, Christine, I was just trying to help, you know, support... people," huffed Bernie. "But if writing it makes you happy..." He looked so crushed as Radical Christine left that I didn't have the heart to tell him that he had failed to boost my morale after spelling my name wrong.