Professional Recordist

I do recordings.  You know, like the stuff you hear in the supermarket or at the airport.  “Please place the item in the bagging area.”  “Select your form of payment.”  “Do not park in the yellow zone.”  That sort of thing.  Somebody’s got to do it.  Mostly, it’s pretty innocuous.  But every once in a while we get an order from places like nuclear reactors and research facilities.  “You have five minutes to reach a safe distance.”  “Total core meltdown in three minutes and counting.”  And then I count.  I always stay calm.  I always say what’s on the script.  All the way to zero.  But I’m always tempted to add those little things, like, “Run!” or “Make peace with your god now.”  Or even the old Porky the Pig.  You know:  “The-a... the-a... the-a... That’s all folks!”  But I don’t.  I don’t imagine the poor technician who knows there really is no safe distance would appreciate it much.  But he might.  He might be vapourized with a smile on his face.  But I don’t.  We don’t get those kinds of orders very often.  But still, it does make the entire job a bit depressing.