Game Show
pg.3

Ron did not seem very excited about the day ahead, and I must say, I wasn’t much more enthused. I was tired and nervous and concerned that I did not have a ticket. We drove up to the kiosk at the Beverly Boulevard entrance to the studio, where a little Filipino woman in a uniform stood waiting. Before we could ask where to go, she said, “You here for The Price is Right?” We nodded. “You have someone in line already?” No, no we don’t. “Ah, very full already, studio only fit 300 people, line already very long. Entrance on Fairfax, you go over there, gate opens at 6:00.” Thank you, we’ll do that. We turned around in the lot and headed back to Beverly so we could make the left onto Fairfax. At first we didn’t see anything; I noticed some homeless people on the sidewalk, and then WAIT! Is that a LINE behind those homeless people? Are those homeless people IN the line? No, it can’t be. Ron! Is that what I think it is? Did those people SLEEP there on the SIDEWALK in SLEEPING BAGS?

Ron looked as apprehensive as I felt.

I cried out, “ABORT THE MISSION! ABORT! ABORT!” Ron was unable to conceal his relief, and I was mortified by the whole situation. The line was around the block, and it was only 5:40 a.m. I was not confident that I could get at the end of that line and wait who-knew-how-many hours just to find out that I didn’t have a chance of getting on the show without a ticket. Plus, I must admit, I was afraid of those people. I was afraid to get too close, they seemed crazy to me. Why were they out there? How long had they been there? Is it like this every day? Who ARE these people? We drove by them twice, slowly, and I took pictures. Some had matching shirts. They all looked tired and haggard. They all seemed desperate and sad. Was this accurate, or was I projecting because I was unable to understand the “reasoning” behind this madness? I had yet to find out. At this point, though, we were ready to go.

Ron drove me up and down Hollywood Boulevard, and we appreciated the view sans vehicles and crazies. While we drove, I broke the silence. “I don’t get it. Wasn’t that weird? Who would do that, who would SLEEP on a SIDEWALK just to get on a game show?” Ron replied, “See, Barb, we don’t think like that, because we don’t think about free money.” I understood what he meant. I mean, I don’t even play the lottery. I always figured people who play the lottery are just pissing their money away for that one-in-a-million to randomly win it all. It just never seemed practical to me. I’ve been to Vegas twice as an adult and never bothered to gamble more than five dollars at a slot machine. These people were sold on the concept of winning. Getting something for nothing. The real American Dream.

I slept most of the ride home, trying to overcome a deflating feeling of defeat. David called around 9:00 a.m. and I had to tell him what happened. I didn’t want him to know that I didn’t even try, that I didn’t even talk to the people in line to gather information that would be helpful for my second attempt. He hopped online to try and find tickets, and selflessly volunteered to copilot my next mission. I was pretty sure Ron was not interested in a second adventure. David excitedly told me that two tickets had become available for Wednesday, merely two days away! I didn’t want to commit, I told him we’d look for other days, maybe later, but he said these were the ONLY tickets available for the entire year. He got them, and a good thing he did, because after that, no more were available. Ron dropped me off an hour later, and I crawled into bed to sleep comfortably, under my beloved high thread-count sheets. As I drifted into unconsciousness, I silently thanked the pillow for not being a sidewalk.

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