Barbarella's Backstage Pass

David held on to all of the enthusiasm I had lost. This was a learning experience, we were going to get up there and get on the show, and I was going to be a contestant! YAY! Right, yay. Prior to my second trip up to L.A., I figured I should at least watch the show. Remember, I don’t watch television very much, and when I do, the LAST thing I turn on is daytime programming geared for geezers, housewives, and the perpetually unemployed. I would be lying, though, if I said I never saw The Price is Right. If you grew up in the last 30 years, TPiR is as ubiquitous as bologna. I would be telling the truth, however, if I told you I hadn’t seen the show in many years. And years ago, when I did see the show, it was only in snippets. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. More research was obviously required, and I refused to drive back up to L.A. unprepared a second time.

David helped me with online research. We watched clips of the classics and read interesting facts about the show in its tri-decade run. Unfortunately, due to an online TV guide error, we missed the last chance to watch the show before my second trip. Blasted! It looked like I was going to go in half-blind again. At least this time we had a better plan.

We would be in line at 4:00 a.m. Getting another hotel room at this point seemed superfluous, so we decided to leave San Diego at 2:00 a.m. and drive straight to the studio. I borrowed chairs from my best friend (there was no way in hell I would consider a sleeping bag -- I don’t even OWN a sleeping bag), and stocked up on power bars and Rock Star beverages. The plan – don’t get tired. Our best strategy, even better than the caffeine pills I grabbed at the store (couldn’t tell you how much they cost, probably around 2 bucks), was to get some sleep before we left. So there we were, 8:00 p.m., trying to fall asleep at an odd hour to better prepare for the long day ahead. I was snoring before 9:00.

Joining the Crew

I was surprisingly chipper for waking up at 1:00 in the morning. Showered and ready, we were on the road by 2:15. The drive was easy (the middle of the night on a weeknight is the way to go if you really want to avoid the shitty traffic), and we made great time. At 4:00 a.m., we parked across the street from the studio, grabbed our borrowed chairs and walked over to the already forming line. I approached the first two men in line, sitting on lawn chairs, covered with blankets, faces half-hidden under the hoods of their jackets. They were wide-awake. Frederick was very animated, very friendly, and he was first in line. I bid them good morning and asked them how long they had been there in those chairs. “We’re too embarrassed to tell you,” they said. “Come on,” I pleaded, “it doesn’t matter to me, I’m here, aren’t I? At this ungodly hour in the morning? I have no right to talk, so go on, spill. What time?”
7:00 p.m. the night before.

They had parked their asses on those chairs on the sidewalk outside of the studio at 7:00 p.m. Tuesday night in order to be in line for Wednesday’s taping. “We haven’t slept. We’re retired, have lots of time, drove here from Washington state. Our wives have been sleeping in the cars across the way.” A look across the street revealed a few sedans, windows covered with some indiscernible, makeshift privacy screens. While their wives slept, these men were content to sit awake and watch the cars go by. I can think of nothing more exciting than sitting on the sidewalk of Fairfax for 12 hours in the middle of the night than to watch the cars go by. Without the aid of mind-altering substances, sounds like a blast. I thought of the last time I stayed awake through an entire evening in Hollywood, and the many times my parties began on a Friday evening and ended on a Sunday afternoon. These flashbacks would plague me until mid-morning. We took our place in line, the 36th and 37th people to arrive.

Game Show pg.4

Game Show
pg.4