Bob, known to his radio buddies as "scannerFreak," loved a good challenge. By now, he was pretty adept at hunting down UHF frequencies, and he’d mastered techniques for tuning into private frequencies without getting noticed. His latest target were the communication channels of big-box stores: Kmart, Coles, and similar giants. Many of these places used basic UHF radios with CTCSS or DCS tones, and Bob had heard they were full of everyday chatter—security protocols, inventory updates, and sometimes, personal drama. For him, it was all part of the thrill.
Armed with his trusty scanner equipped with CloseCall and a collection of lunch boxes, Bob set off on a Friday night to the car park outside a cluster of big-box stores. He parked his car in a spot with a clear line of sight to the employee entrances, close enough to pick up signals but far enough to avoid any suspicion. He carefully hid his radio setup inside a nondescript lunch box on the passenger seat, covering it with a sandwich and an apple for good measure. From the outside, it looked like any ordinary snack.
Bob switched on CloseCall, which could catch nearby transmissions instantly. It wasn’t long before the frequencies started popping up. First was Kmart, with staff chattering about the closing shift and moving products. He grinned and jotted down the frequency and CTCSS tone, marking it with a “KM” in his notebook. Coles was next, and he managed to pick up its DCS tone in seconds, right as two staff discussed a misplaced shipment of organic produce.
But the real action started when he caught a faint transmission just past midnight. Most of the store employees had clocked out, and the car park was quiet. He was scanning Coles’ channel when a familiar voice cut through the static, someone he’d heard on his previous scans—a male staff member who’d often been on the night shift. But now, he was whispering to someone else, a female voice, and Bob perked up. He turned up the volume just slightly, trying to catch every word. The two seemed completely unaware that their conversation could be heard. They were talking about meeting up after work, about keeping their secret hidden, sharing laughs over close calls when other staff had nearly caught them. “You know,” the woman said, voice tinged with amusement, “we’ll have to be careful, especially with the cameras in the backroom.” The man chuckled in agreement, and they signed off with a playful, “See you soon.”
Bob sat there, stunned, feeling like he’d just eavesdropped on an unexpected radio soap opera. He wondered how often these late-night confessions went out over the airwaves, assuming no one was listening. After jotting down their frequency, he kept his scanner on, but nothing else quite as juicy came through that night.
Over the following weeks, Bob went back to that same car park, hiding his gear in his lunch box each time. He collected the frequencies, CTCSS, and DCS tones for nearly every store in the area, noting details like shift schedules and little quirks of the staff communications. Occasionally, he’d tune in after hours just to see if the star-crossed employees would share another midnight transmission. It became a strange hobby within a hobby.
Back in his radio shack, he compiled all his findings, cataloguing each store’s details meticulously. To anyone else, it might seem strange, but for Bob, each frequency, tone, and story he’d captured was a piece of a larger puzzle—a way to be part of the invisible network buzzing through the town. And as long as there were signals floating around, there’d always be something new for scannerFreak to uncover.
A bit too voyeuristic, that one.
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