So I’m staffing one of the entry points for KQED Fest today, handing out programs and greeting people. It’s about 11:15am. A beat-up white truck pulls up and an older gentleman in overalls waves me over. He has a sour look on his face.
“Good morning, how can I help you?” I ask, in my sweetest customer service voice.
“You know there’s no place to park around here,” he complains. “You all have taken up this whole block.”
“I’m sorry about that, sir,” I reply. “This is our first big celebration of our new building. It’s just for today. You should check it out.”
“That’s actually why I came. I wanted to talk to somebody who runs the radio program.”
“Oh, well, you should park and come in and maybe we can find someone from that team for you to talk to.”
“Well, let me tell you, and you can tell me if it’s worth it. I listen to KQED every day. Sometimes there’s something you report about that I want to send to my friends. But I’m driving so I can’t right then.”
He continues, “when I get home at night, I try and find that part of the radio program on your website and send it to them. But I can’t find it. All I can do is send them to the live stream.”
“Wow, that sounds frustrating. I agree it would be great if you could just send a web link directly to that part of our radio program to somebody else.”
“Exactly!”
“Well I can pass that along to our radio producers. What’s your name?”
“David Jones.”
“Thanks, Mr. Jones. My name is Rik. I’m happy to pass that along for you. If you park, I can direct you where to go to get into the building.”
“Naw, I’m good. That’s all I really came here to say. Have a good day, Rik.”
“You too, Mr. Jones,” I say as he drives off.
Sometimes, folks just want to be heard.