The big O

On Wednesday night we headed up north to spend the night in the ‘burbs since we had an early morning appointment with a billionaire. After grabbing a quick bite at Chipotle (my first visit and sure not to be my last) we checked into the hotel. Rachel cut my hair and afterwards I took a shower, so we had already exhausted the two towels that were left for us in the room. We also shortly discovered that neither of us had packed the toothpaste, so Rach called down to the front desk to see if someone could bring some up for us with some new towels. When the man arrived, however, he only had towels in his hand. Rachel tried to speak her best broken Spanish but it was highly unsuccessful. She called back down and explained the situation and soon the same man arrived with the toothpaste, a toothbrush, and another towel. I expected to unwrap the towel and find a letter stating “If you ask for one more thing I will kill you in your sleep.” However, soon after I was trying to iron my shirt and discovered that it wasn’t getting very hot. Rather than calling the front desk a third time, I simply walked down there myself iron in hand. I explained my problem and she assured me that another one would be sent up to the room immediately. “What room are you in?” she asked. When I replied with the now famous 451 she rolled her eyes at the other woman working behind the counter. Rachel and I had officially one of those customers. I could picture her going back into the manager’s office and blogging about us on hotelgueststhatreallysuck.com. As I made my way back down the hall to the elevator I was spotted by our Spanish friend, whose face made it apparent that he had already gotten our latest request. He motioned for me to come to him and soon he was leading me into the secret housekeeping lair. There were boxes full of tiny bars of soap, plastic cups stacked high to the ceiling, and enough ice buckets to build a small castle. He pointed to a large stack of phone books in a corner, where I soon figured out he wanted me to sit. As I sat there he took six irons from a bottom shelf and plugged them all in. After only a few seconds he began running his hands along the heated metal parts of each of them. I began to have a suspicion that he was trying to see which one would cause the most damage when he smashed it into the side of my face. He then said the words “touch” and “hot” as he pointed to the collection of irons. Well those are usually two words that I don’t usually use in the same sentence, like “eat” and “salmonella” or “talent” and “Jessica Simpson.” I politely refused his invitation to fondle the scalding metal, so he unplugged one of them and handed it to me as I rushed out before he could molest me.

The next morning we were in line for Oprah by 6:10. A group of women behind us were from Washington, D.C. One of them was so obnoxious, droning on about her collapsing stock portfolio. To make matters worse her entire outfit was the same shade of purple from head to toe which really bothered me for some reason. She looked like a big lavender tulip. When they let us inside we were handed a bag and promised that there was breakfast inside. However, when we sat down and I looked inside all I found was a large cup of yogurt with fruit on the top and a cranberry muffin. Um, this was no kind of breakfast that I’d ever eaten. Where was the bowl of Frosted Flakes or the large cinnamon roll that I was used to? I slumped down and tossed the bag under my seat. On televisions throughout the large holding area were several television sets playing the Oprah 20^th anniversary DVD’s. (What else would you expect?) The woman right across from me was loving it. She threw out phrases like “human connection” and “how remarkable” as she watched. What had I gotten myself into?

A little before 8:30 we were led into the studio and assigned our seats in the far left section, directly across from where the Big O would soon be sitting. The warm-up lady told us that we’d actually be here for the taping of two shows. Twice the chance to see myself on TV and make Letty jealous. My excitement soon turned to disappointment when she announced that both shows were with Dr. Oz. I never watch when he’s on because I haven’t started to worry about menopause nor do I care what letter my poop is supposed to resemble. Later Oprah let it slip that we would be missing Nicole Kidman who would be there in the afternoon. We traded in an Oscar winner for a doctor who wears his scrub pants uncomfortably too high. Seems like a fair trade. When Oprah finally came out it was pretty exciting. I’m not a die-hard fan, but I’ve gotta admit seeing someone of her massive fame was a kick. Oh, and just for the record, from the looks of her it doesn’t look like she’s been eating that crappy “breakfast” she hands out to her audience. Just saying. The first show was about overweight teens, which was actually incredibly interesting. They talked about what foods you should and shouldn’t be feeding your kids. At one point they showed a video of one of the girls chowing down at McDonald’s. The audience was shocked at what the girl had eaten, yet I leaned over to Rachel and asked “Is it wrong that all that piece did was make me hungry?”

The second show was entitled “The Science of Beauty.” The uninteresting title can’t even compare to how truly bored I was during this. Woman came up on stage complaining about their adult acne and their hair loss. I wanted to raise my hand and ask Dr. Oz from a medical standpoint if it was possible to die from listening to middle-aged women drone on and on about the fungus on their toes. About twenty minutes into it I really had to go to the bathroom. I tried to go in between the two shows but the line for the men’s room was surprisingly long that I ran out of time. To make matters worse the Chipotle spicy beef burrito from the night before started talking back to me. For the next thirty minutes I squirmed uncomfortably in seat, knowing that if I ruined one of Oprah’s chairs she no doubt had the power to have me killed. Finally the show wrapped and I darted out of there faster than Oprah can devour three Egg McMuffins.