I hate TV.
I should be more specific. It is not the entertainment of TV that I hate. Nothing is more enjoyable then sitting down, turning my brain off, and staring mindlessly at a flashing screen. I’m not going to sit here and preach the evils of television or the lack of “quality, though-provoking” programming. I’m significantly more likely to turn on an episode of Community than even check PBS. After all, I’m part of the MTV generation. Thinking is not a priority for us.
My issue with television is much deeper than that. It has created a love-hate relationship between the two of us.
TV makes me feel like a loser.
If you look at TV shows from before the nineties, they were not realistic in any way. You can watch those shows and think things like, “I could never be a renegade cop in Chicago. Silly TV.” You are free to enjoy the actual shows.
Then reality television came around. Suddenly, I am surrounded by people who find themselves unexpected celebrities, able to have anything that they want. While it didn’t seem terribly realistic, it was supposedly based in reality, taking away the fantasy.
I didn’t really care at first. I have no interest in being on a desert island or winning a competition by singing a Celine Dion song, so there was no level of envy.
Unfortunately we didn’t stop there. Now we have shows about people finding what they assume to be random crap, only to find out it’s worth $100,000.
I have had a lot of random crap in my life. I have seen countless items that I thought were interesting.
None of these items have brought in $100,000.
Yet, every week a new episode of Pawn Stars appears, each time showing someone making more than I make in a year off of a random knick knack that they randomly found in their attic or at their grandparents’ house.
Every time I hear a person mention these shows, one thought pops into my mind: why don’t I have anything worth a $1000?
Judging by shows like this, you would think that everyone has at least one thing worth a few thousand in their possession. They just don’t know about it, so it continues to sit there until one of your family members gets rid of it.
That perception can’t be true, though. I looked at everything I own. If my apartment was robbed, the police would look at the missing items report and assume that the robbery had taken place in a dumpster behind a local Salvation Army.
Naturally, I have thought about buying random things at garage sales then immediately running to a pawn shop. Then I remember how early garage sales start and how scary the die-hard garage salers can be and I forget all about it. I like to sleep, plus I’m always scared that I will be trampled in a mad rush for an old SaladShooter.
I guess I’ll just start picking up stuff off of the street. My odds aren’t too good, but it is cheaper than playing the lottery.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll find a million dollar piece of trash, pay all of my bills, quit my job and pursue my lifelong dream of living off of a million dollars.
Or I could just end up with a bunch of trash in my apartment.
Stupid TV. This is all your fault.