I Am Cheating Pokemon Obsessed Tinder Freak

My name is Derek.  I’m a cheating, Pokemon obsessed Tinder freak.  Alone in my spare room, I explode in a defensive rant, reasoning with the person accusing me of being a cheating, Pokemon obsessed, Tinder freak.  For anyone and everyone who is listening, I’m unhinged.  And especially so says the source of these accusations – a woman named Louise.  

On this day, at 7AM, I’m paid to be a cheating Pokemon obsessed Tinder freak.  I become the role.  Committed like Daniel Day Lewis growing his beard, living in a log cabin channeling Abraham Lincoln committed.  Pacing around my spare room like a madman.  Veins bulging, spittle flying, screaming my own accusations into the phone at Louise.  A woman I’ve never met, and never will.  A woman who is ruining me, and has receipts.  A woman who, like me, is being paid.  And for 30 minutes, Louise is the source of the greatest pain in my life by simply being right about me.  

And then, she isn’t.  

Because Louise – whose real name I do not know, and again, never will – at 7:30 AM – will go back to her day running a company, raising kids, or maybe indulging her own Pokemon obsession.  And she will no longer be the reason I’m falling to pieces in my spare room.

We say goodbye as if she’d just scheduled a dentist appointment.  It’s cordial and professional.  And if it all sound like fiction – well, it is.  It should make you question what it is that you hear (and maybe even see) can be relied upon to be real.

And that’s just my first call.  Because at 7:30 I cease being Derek, and at 8:00 I become Barry: a soft-spoken vegetarian who refuses to bathe.

At 8:30 I’m Frank: a lazy husband who eats two jars of peanut butter a day, hates exercise and wants to lose 20 pounds by taking Ozempic.  

And at 9:00 I’m Cornelius: a guy who wants to date his former step-sister.

I’m all of them, convincingly, professionally, happily – because what I really am, is a call-in radio performer.  And if you pay the rate for 30 minutes, I pick up the phone, make a call, and I become whomever you’ve paid me to be.  This is the only real thing happening in this entire exercise.

‘Second Date Update’ – staged.  ‘Ghosted’ – staged.  ‘Couple’s Court’ – you guessed it, staged.  If you’re listening to an FM station in any city USA and you hear a segment from a local caller that seems a little too far-fetched, a little too emotional, a little too… Perfect… It’s likely staged.  

But, like me, you listen, and believe it’s all real.  Or at a minimum, you’re entertained.  Because the actors performing these roles are some of the best actors I have ever seen.  Wait, scratch that… I’ve never seen them.  Let me take that again, they’re some of the best actors I’ve ever heard.  I think they’d say the same about me.

But let me back up, and tell you how this all began for me.  

When I was a pre-teen my voice sounded like any high pitched, excitable kid.  Squeaky and piercing.  But then, as it does for all pubescent males, it started to crack.  And almost overnight it changed completely.  I woke up one morning at 15 and sounded 40.  It dropped about 3 octaves.  It was resonant.  

It was right then that I’d frequently get complimented on my voice.  People would muse, “Wow, I could listen to you all day.”.  Teachers tried to steer me into radio, “You should become a disc jockey” or, “You like sports, you should be on ESPN.”.  Like it was simple to do, all you needed was to sound good.  Even then, I knew better.  But, I have to admit, talking for money interested me.  The thought of performing interested me.  And when my senior year English teacher told me, “You should do voice overs”.  That clicked.

But alas, I don’t do voice overs.  Okay, I’ve been hired for a spot here and there.  But I’ve been hired to be on-camera a lot more.  So I became an actor.  An out of work, struggling actor.  You may have even seen me in some obscure film or TV show.  But no, you don’t know me, and likely, have never seen me.  And if you have, you wouldn’t know my name.  I’m not famous.  Not being famous means you need money.  I was no exception.  I wanted to make money in this field.

One September day 12 years ago I got a call from a guy, we’ll call him Greg.  ”We have a mutual friend (insert name here)”. 

Greg told me he had heard me on the phone and I had a tremendous voice.  My friend told him I was an actor.  Greg was working with an unlisted booking service. 

He explained to me what that meant.  Need a clown for your birthday, a comic for a retirement party, a magician for whatever reason you’d need a magician… You call a booking service, or a booking agent.  

But this one was secret.  You can’t go on Google and find it.  They only work for select clients.  They do not advertise.  They book ‘call in radio performers’ for radio stations across the country.  There’s not a situation on air we can’t handle.  Well, almost all, we’re not paid protestors.  

Greg asked if I had ever taken improv.  Yes.  He threw scenarios at me: role playing, random accent testing, mental flexibility, authentic response, world building.  I was with him every step of the way.  He was the first test, and he thought I was a strong candidate.  “You buy in, can act, you have a great voice, and maybe equally as importantly you have a working cell phone.  You don’t need any more tools than that… Except ultimate discretion.”.  He reiterated – this is paid.  I was in.

Greg asked for my email and told me someone would be in touch.  If it sounds like recruitment into a three-letter agency or some underground initiative, it felt like that.  Greg knew all he needed to know, but I knew nothing about him or this group.  I gave him my email and waited.

A few days later I received an email from an address I’d never seen.  There was an attachment. Usually, those would go straight into the trash, but I somehow knew this was the email I had been waiting for.  The subject field didn’t call attention to Greg, or me, or the job.  It just said “Open the attachment”.

The email explained what it is they do.  It detailed the pay structure.  And it stated strongly to not forward.  The attachment was an NDA/performance contract.  “Sign it and return it or we cannot move forward.  And there will be no changes.  You have 24 hours”.

This wasn’t illegal, and I needed the money.  This sounded like an easy way to make it.  And just for the record, it is not a lot of money.  You can’t live on this unless you work 12 hours a day 7 days a week.  But, this is a good side gig for someone with skills.  I wanted it badly.

I signed the contract and sent it back.  I got a return email a immediately.  “Congratulations, you’re now a call-in radio performer!”.  Within 5 minutes, I received a number to call.  I called it.

The guy on the other end was named James (not really).  And yes, the whole thing sounds like tradecraft – because it kinda is.  In addition to signing the agreement I was told to never divulge the nature of the calls, never show or forward the emails, never share the scripts, have excellent cell service, never use speaker phone, and pe prompt.  Period.  I agreed.  Up to this point I never have (and technically, still haven’t).

Then, I waited for my first assignment, wondering what I would be asked to do.  What station I would be calling.  What other performer I’d be working with.  Another email came.  No subject.

You are Tracy.  You’re working with Francesca.  You’re married and Francesca wants to have a threesome, but it cannot be her best friend Helen.  However, Helen is the only one Tracy wants to have a threesome with.  Tracy, your job is to convince Francesca it won’t hurt your marriage or her friendship with Helen.  You’re calling Des Moines at 7:00 your time.  This is a live call.

I was thrilled.  Not only because I had a paying gig, but because I was going to get to perform live on the air.  Like I said, the idea excited me and had for years.  It still does.

Of course, the scenario is compelling.  They always are.  Almost all of the calls I make consist of scenarios that rarely if ever come up in life.  In reality, I’m a happily married guy, satisfied in every way.  I don’t desire threesomes with my wife’s best friends.

But for this call, Tracy did.  BAD.  Tracy wanted this threesome with Francesca and Helen more than he wanted anything else in the whole world.  And when the call started, something amazing happened.

I became Tracy.  Husband to Francesca.  Desirer of Helen.  Convincing in every way.  I was in the zone.  The DJ’s loved it.  The audience loved it.  I loved it.  We stayed on to answer questions from real callers.  To egg on the results.  I convinced them – a threesome with Helen was the only course of action.  It was unanimous: the threesome with Helen was on.

And as committed as I was, Francesca – or whatever her name is – matched me.  Everyone had a blast.  When that 30 minutes ended and Taylor Swift started to play, they congratulated us…”Best call we’ve had in years. Thank you both!”.

And then they hung up.  It was over.   7:30 AM on the dot.  I walked out of the spare room to my wife, laughing.  “So that’s on the radio?”.  Yes.  It is.  Right now.

I’ve done over 500 calls since then.  Not every call is as thrilling as that one.  Some are more so.  And I’ll keep doing them.  There’s something magic about performing live, without a net.  Even with total anonymity on a cell phone.  Even though it’s borderline absurd.  Even though it’s not real in any way.

I am not a cheating Pokemon obsessed Tinder freak.  But, I have been, for a half hour on the radio.  And I’ve been 499 other dudes (and even a few older women) with unbelievable problems or dilemmas.  So, listen closely the next time you’re roaming around the dial, searching for some enlightenment, some greater truth.  You’ll get the former, but not the latter.  That may be supplied by me: rambling in a West Texas accent about my narcolepsy, raving about my Halo addicted son who’s never been outside, or wanting to have an affair with my best friend’s wife on my fishing boat.   

And if it sounds real, that’s because for 30 minutes on any given morning, it is.  Makes you think twice about what you’re hearing (or reading) and how much you should believe it.  And given what’s going on in America at this moment in time – maybe take a closer look at how much that should be believed.  Because it certainly feels like a lot of it should be lumped in with really a really good performance.  Entertaining.  Attention getting.  And most of all… Fake.