I was a major market program director for a radio GM who used to call me and the station sales manager, a guy whose nickname was "The Snake" -- into his office when the Arbitron rating books arrived.
Behind closed doors, he'd shut his thick drapes that covered the windows overlooking an array of towers in a large field.
He had "The Snake" on his right side and me on his left as he paged through the newly arrived rating books. There was one light on -- a desk lamp, as I remember it.
I was scared no matter how many times he performed this voodoo ritual -- and I wish I was making this up -- but sadly, it's exactly as I&hellip
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