I don't deny that I could be an arrogant little cuss at that age (15 and 16), nor do I pretend that I wasn't . . . when I was, it was usually over petty little things, like a microphone, for example: I prefered a headset, but one time, I had to use a clip-on instead . . . apparently, the guys in the control room could hear me b!+c#!ng about it, because after one shoot, they came down to the studio, took me aside, and laid down the law: they don't want to hear it. I humbly apologized, and never complained about what kind of mic they gave me ever again. There were also times where I would have to be lectured about something I may have done during a live pledge break that I shouldn't have, such as dropping the ball, or hamming it up a little too much, but as I've said, those were mistakes I corrected to avoid making them again.
Otherwise, I actually would try to keep my mouth shut as much as possible. In regards to the more important things (again, not moving or advancing in my position, me being used as a gofer moreso than somebody being trained in television production), I only brought those up at the insistance of my mom, because she was more concerned about these things than I was. She would ask me things like, "Why are they bringing you in just to clean and not actually putting you to work in the studio?" "When are they going to start using in the studio more?" "I think it's about time they bring you in on a part-time basis, getting paid." "You need to talk to them about these things." I actually didn't want to talk to them about these things, mainly because I felt like that would make me look insubordinate, and I didn't want them to think I was demanding or anything, so whenever I brought these things up, I only did so out of reluctance . . . and, again, as I said, it was mostly just laughed off whenever I did. After a while though, even I started getting a little fed up with cleaning more than I was actually helping to run equipment, or put together sets for the various local shows we taped, or anything of that nature . . . the clincher was one hot, summer day, they assigned me to clean the cracks out of the pavement in the parking lot . . . I am dead serious: they gave me a screw driver, and instructed me to clean out the gravel, weeds, and other pieces of debris that were in the cracks in the parking lot.
Again, the only reason they would invite me back was to perform Steve D'Monster for pledge drives . . . even so, there was no bitterness or foul air whenever I'd be invited back for that purpose - and, in some cases, they'd have me answering phones as well . . . but when they stopped having pledge drives altogether, they stopped inviting me back altogether. The only times I've ever been back since then were a couple of occasions, here and there, to visit with some of the old teamsters I was on good terms with (including one who actually had more to do with helping shape Steve's character and personality than I ever did). Not that I'm on bad terms with anybody there, but I grew closer to certain teamsters than others. Since I've been there, the size of their staff has been downsized to about half of what it was, because so many of their daily tasks have pretty much been replaced by computers and machines.