Show of hands, how many of you would like to earn ,000 for one day of work? Those of you who failed to thrust your digits skyward, you are either 1) skeptics who worry more about consequences than embracing adventure, 2) privileged souls who see that amount as so much pocket-change, or 3) unmotivated buffoons (like me) who fear that this offer might require a temporary abandonment of the couch.
Fresh out of college and halfheartedly seeking gainful employment, I spent the summer following my senior year mired in apathy. Nothing much interested me; my room looked as though it had been ransacked by a gang of gypsies seeking a clean pair of socks, my romantic prospects were remarkably bleak, and most of my time was spent in front of the television.
In the days prior to the cable revolution, one had few options for daytime viewing. Public television offered hours of children’s programming and, after a few days, I felt that I was no longer being challenged by the “One of these things is not like the other” segment on Sesame Street and decided to move on. Spurning Bert and Ernie, I had but two choices left, Soup Operas and Game Shows. Unwilling to relinquish my man-card at such a tender age, I became immersed in shows like Jeopardy, Password and the $25,000 Dollar Pyramid.
“Pyramid” was my favorite. Hosted by Dick Clark, the Pyramid featured contestants who would try to get their partner to say a word by describing that object or thing. Example: For those too young to remember the show, if the word was “book,” you would say “You read this” and hope the person didn’t say “text messages.” Each day I would stare at the Pyramid, my Cheese Doodle encrusted fingers stiffening into a fist as strangers won fortunes. At the end of one episode I noticed that the show was shot in New York, just four train stops from my couch! Moved to action for the first time since lunch, I decided to travel into the big city and leverage my Pyramid knowledge into a windfall.
When I arrived at the studio I found out that a week’s worth of shows were to be shot that day, one after the other. A contestant coordinator then appeared from behind a curtain and announced that anyone who wanted to be a possible future contestant on the show should write their name on a clipboard which would be distributed throughout the audience.
If selected, prospective contestants would be called out of the audience after the performance. Excitedly I scrawled my moniker on the form and sat through three hours of taping. Sadly I was not picked, so I went back for another taping, only to be met by the same result. For my third taping I sat in a completely different area of the audience to no avail. On my fourth attempt I wore a loud red and gold shirt and a green hat. You guessed it, nothing!
Frustrated and out twenty-six dollars in train fare, I decided to change my strategy. Noticing that people with odd names always seemed to make the cut I returned for a final assault. Attending the proceedings under the alias Rueben Von Wunderfloog, I was among the first to be singled out and whisked backstage. Seizing my opportunity, I happily assumed the role of Rueben and began my would-be voyage of riches.
Breezing through the first few rounds of practice game play and beginning to feel somewhat invincible, I survived several elimination rounds to reach the semi-finals. It was there that I met my final partner Stephen, a sluggish accountant from New Jersey with the intellect of a two-by-four. Regardless of what I described Stephen squinted at me as if I was speaking in an ancient Persian dialect long forgotten by modern man. My heart sunk as two perky co-eds blazed through the categories like twins who had been separated at birth, burying my dreams and casting Stephen and I to the curb.
The next day Reuben started watching “The Guiding Light.”
By Jon Kaufman [email protected]