The Mutha Of All Radio Remotes

Unpredictable things can and do happen at radio remotes. Like the "routine" one our station did at a local bank on Main Street a few weekends ago.

Listeners were invited to stop by the bank, open up a new checking or savings account, and they'd get $100 automatically credited to their account. Who, in this economy, couldn't use a free $100?

We expected some decent foot traffic for the event. What we couldn't have expected was that a young woman in an old, beat-up Cadillac would slowly drive by, yelling obscenities out her car window

"Go fuck yourself!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "You son of a bitch, mother-f'in' whore!"

Those of us standing by the station's E-Z Up tent on the sidewalk outside the bank -- including a bank manager and one of our station's sales account executives -- were mortified. We watched as the Caddy made a U-turn and slowly approached the bank, turning into its parking lot. A blue and white sticker on the vehicle's back bumper proclaimed, "Don't Hate Me. I have Tourette's."

Our worst fears were soon realized. The Cadillac's driver entered the bank lobby, shouting out a variety of four-letter words that immobilized horrified patrons, many of whom were accompanied by their children.

The woman, who was well-dressed and looked, well, normal, conducted her business at a teller's window, then made her way back through the lobby to the exit. Our account exec rushed to open the door for her, eager for the embarrassment to end.

"Thanks," the woman politely said on her way out the door. But then she stopped suddenly, wheeled around and, staring the AE in her eyes, cried out, "BITCH!" It reverberated through the bank and, I was sure, could be heard for miles away.

Fortunately, our station was in commercial break at the time.