TV news is a funny gig. One day you’re embroiled in some politician’s latest debate and the next day you’re framing up citizens as they crush bags of ice with their but-TOCKS. That was the case this morning as I rendezvoused with said ice crushers at a Battleground Avenue Bojangles. The brainchild of a certain wacky morning zoo, today’s lightning round of lost dignity centered around the oppressive heat wave currently holding the greater Piedmont Triad in its sweaty grip.
Not that the three people grinding ice cubes between their cheeks were the least bit interested in meteorology. They were in it for the free airline tickets. You see, the first person to turn these frozen chips into a puddle of mush won airfare to anywhere in the continental U.S. - a prize well worthy of a soggy pair of icy shorts. So as the contestants rocked back and forth on a saddle of ice, I bided my time in the safety of my viewfinder. Meanwhile, the van’s loudspeakers emitted a braying screech - the jarring sound of some clown named Murphy laughing at his own stale jokes.
Minutes stretched into days as the small talk faded and the erstwhile ice-crushers got down to the nitty gritty business of bustin’ up cubes. While the lone gentleman spread his considerable backside over his frozen bag, the young lady in the middle employed a method of grinding friction best left unexplored in such a forum as this. In the end, it didn’t matter. Contestant number three, a lovely lady named Lydia, managed to dissolved her cushion of frozen water chips long before the other two melted their last icy morsel. As Lydia cleared her throat and launched into a victory acceptance speech, I zoomed out and centered up - recognizing a manufactured radio moment as the good cheesy TV it was.
Still, I’d much rather listen to "Two Guys Named Chris"...