These Things Come in Waves

A couple of days ago, I finally laid bare my feelings about Dialing for Thousands, the albatross of my broadcasting career. I've heard from people with whom I haven't communicated in years, which means someone is actually reading out there. Another blogger, Winter in Texarkana, wrote about the time my voice was on her father's answering machine. Today, I walked into the cafeteria at work, just to grab some lunch. A man stopped right in front of me and stared. He walked past me a couple of steps, then stopped again. He said, "Excuse me. I don't mean to bother you, but aren't you the jackpot man?"
I knew what he meant. "The Jackpot Man" could have so many positive connotations. It could mean I'm so reliable, I'm like money in the bank. It could mean that I've done something that made someone feel so good, they feel like they've hit the jackpot! I could go on, but it would be only an exercise in futility and frustration. I said, "Yes, I guess I am."
Then, I found two guys I know, sat with them and talked about sports for fifteen minutes as a method of purging my emotions.
Happy Independence Day from The Jackpot Man.

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