It started to feel like a curse. Every time we managed to land a high-profile guest on A Bridge Podcast, it seemed like the universe would conspire against me, causing one technical difficulty after another. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was some twisted form of karmic retribution for my past transgressions or a sign from the cosmos that I should abandon my dreams of being a television producer altogether. Pat was equally frustrated. He had put his reputation on the line, using his connections to book these high-profile guests for our podcast, and we both knew that we couldn’t afford to keep screwing things up. Our saving grace was OBS Studio, a powerful live production tool that allowed us to record each episode. But once the recording was done, there were no second chances. Whatever we captured was what we had to work with, and more often than not, it was marred by an infuriating, relentless buzzing static that drowned out the audio of our esteemed guests. As I sat in the dimly lit back room of “The Post,” hunched over the production board, my anxiety levels would skyrocket with each passing moment. Nard and Pat, along with our guests, would be waiting in anticipation, unaware of the impending chaos. I could feel the sweat dripping down my temples, as I desperately clung to my tall can of Coors Light, chugging it down as if it were the elixir of life, the one thing that could get me through the most grueling hours of production. With every new episode, I’d be on the edge of my seat, praying that the buzzing wouldn’t make an appearance. But like clockwork, I’d hear that familiar, maddening hum start to creep in through the headset. My heart would race, my hands would tremble, and my breathing would become shallow and rapid, as I tried to troubleshoot the problem live. My fingers would fly across the production board, frantically adjusting levels, checking connections, and praying for a miracle. But no matter how hard I tried or how many hours I’d spent preparing, the buzzing would inevitably win, leaving our podcast in shambles. The crushing weight of failure would settle on my shoulders, and I’d bury my face in my hands, feeling the sting of hot tears behind my eyes. It was a vicious cycle, and as the static continued to plague our production, I began to lose hope. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was destined to spend the rest of my days chasing a dream that was forever just out of reach, sabotaged by some unseen force that seemed hell-bent on keeping me from achieving my goals.

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