When we last left off, stuff had happened. There was a lot of stuff and words and other things. You should probably read that before continuing on. Now, the exciting continuation of that stuff that happened last time.
“Where?!” I shouted. My eyes darted back and forth searching for the bright lights of cameras and of stardom. Somewhere in this very large building sat a chance for me to finally accomplish something in this meaningless trite existence. Not everyone can say they have been in the background of a hockey pregame show on a regional cable station, but I would make sure I could.
“I think it was upstairs by the…” It didn’t matter where it was. I was already gone.
The escalator ride up was very long. Very, very long. I’ve often wondered why they don’t jack up the speed of those things a little bit. Sure, it would be a more dangerous, but it’s still a moving staircase. How dangerous could it really be?
After traveling at the speed of the Eurasian Woodcock (The world’s slowest bird for those of you who are not up on your ornithological studies), we finally made it to the third level. I turned on my best speedwalking abilities and headed around the turn. I passed the concession stand, the souvenir stand, the bathrooms, the other concession stand, the souvenir stand that only sells hats, more restrooms. Apparently the third level of the arena is not exactly a hotbed of activity.
Finally we were back to the slow, slow escalators. I had seen no camera crew, no lights, no camera. Nothing.
“Sometimes they do it in other places,” my sister said. This is the closest I have ever come to hating my sister. Someday I will withhold information from her to just to get a little taste of revenge.
We headed back down the escalator. At the midpoint, I looked down and saw a beautiful sight. There, next to the ticket booths stood a man in a suit. A blinding light enveloped his face in a glorious glow as he held a microphone up.
This was, without a doubt, a live newscast. I would finally be a TV star.
I patiently waited for the escalator to bring me down to my meeting with destiny. And I waited. And waited. I took a second to contemplate the magic that created this master of engineering. How much effort must have gone into creating the perfect way to travel between floors? If I could, I would find Jesse W. Reno, the inventor of the escalator, and let him know how much his invention had helped mankind.
Then I would scream at him for making it SO SLOW!
Trying to get on TV is tricky business. You don’t want the people in charge of the cameras to know you are trying to join their broadcast. They will most likely not like it. You have to be sneaky.
I slowly and overly casually strolled up to the ticket booths. The men waited for the cue from the studio. As they passed their time chatting about local Emmys or whatever local news people talk about, I positioned myself. As soon as the broadcast began, I would enter myself into the history of television broadcasting forever.
After about 10 minutes, the man with the microphone did something very strange: he sat it down. Then the camera man opened up a back. He turned off the lights, took the camera off of the tripod, and put it all away.
We had missed yet another broadcasting opportunity. I felt my chances slowly slipping away. We walked the first level hoping to find something, but all we saw were the abandoned cameras from a pregame show passed.
“They do a postgame show,” my sister pointed out, immediately redeeming herself for her prior indiscretion.
That’s when I hatched a plan.
I know, I know, but that can’t be the end of the story right? There has to be, like, an ending and stuff. To be continued…
- Operation Boob Tube, Part 1 (badlandsbadley.wordpress.com)