Game Show
pg.9

The producer spent the most time speaking with Giovanni, the friendly, Italian pizza-parlor owner from Chicago. Come to think of it, the pages had given Giovanni some extra attention as well. Now is the time for me to explain the process. During the long day of waiting, the pages surreptitiously select those they think will make good contestants. The pages slip their selections to the producers, and in the brief “interview” with the producers, final contestants are chosen. All this before any of us walk into the studio. I would have placed a bet at this point that Giovanni would be called as a contestant. I’ll save you the suspense – he wasn’t.

Who Brings a Sign?

After our two-minute interview, we cheered pathetically and took our turn in the metal detector. Here we had a near miss – my boyfriend wears a little metal chain collar, with an inscribed lock that reads: Property of Barbarella. If hundreds of people were made to wait while I searched for the key to de-collar David, I would surely be exposed as the only person on the lot (red coats excluded) who did not lust after the grandfather clock and the cotton-candy maker, was not prone to daytime reveries featuring complete wicker basket sets, and did not lay awake at night counting pieces of matching his and her lawn furniture. As if the fact that I was the only person with a sign wasn’t already a dead giveaway. Anyone who has ever watched the show knows that the appropriate way to profess one’s love for Bob is to emblazon an ill-fitting T-shirt and proudly parade around with the message on one’s chest. Luckily, the detector was set to jewelry mode, and we were spared the spectacle. Secret identities safely stashed beneath our clothing, we continued with the group to another side of the building to wait yet again.

It seemed like my ass had been on one bench or another for an eternity. However, my time on the bench was miniscule compared to one man who attended 140 tapings, and who was finally called as a contestant for the FIRST time on his 140th appearance. That’s 140 days of a person’s life, given to a game show. I can’t imagine that he had a job, a life, anything to do at all. But that’s how these people are. Several people in the crowd around me had been there at least once before.

Show Time

FINALLY! The doors opened, and we were herded into the studio. I was shocked at how small it was. I mean, like, itty bitty, teensy weensy, not at all like it looks on TV. The seats were low, and the stage was above the lower half of the audience. Where were all the showrooms? This was just a tiny stage with three signs, and the curtains, and the lights, and the paint… is that GLITTER GLUE? It looked like it was slapped together by a 1st grade class in the 70s or something. We took our seats in the third row of the center section near the right aisle. We had no idea who was going to be called as a contestant.

Scott was sitting directly to my left. I was seriously concerned that he might piss himself, he seemed so shifty with excitement. The new announcer came onto the stage (I was saddened to find out earlier in the day, via a couple’s matching green T-shirts, that the old announcer, Rod Roddy, had recently passed). This new guy (Rich?) explained the process. He made us repeat after him, “Women kiss Bob. Men hug Bob. Men do not kiss Bob. DO NOT HURT BOB!” Apparently, Samoan contestants have a tendency to bear-hug Bob, lifting him off the stage, which no doubt scares the living shit out of him. I wondered if the producers derived some secret sadistic satisfaction from selecting Samoans as contestants. He told us how he wanted us to “Come On Down” if our names were called. “Jump up, and run as FAST as you can without hurting yourself!” Enthusiasm is key, yes, yes, we get it. By now, I was exhausted. Two hours of driving. TEN hours of waiting, getting in and out of lines, listening to stupid people ask stupid questions, all the interaction, waiting, waiting, waiting. I no longer cared about the show itself. Come to think of it, I never really did care. I was curious, this was something to do, something to experience.

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