On the Run From Reality TV

Have you seen that show called What Would You Do?  You know, when those actors play out some morally outrageous scenario in a very public place (like an obviously drunk guy getting into his car with a few passengers in plain sight).  And then the unsuspecting real-life people, who are unaware their reactions are being filmed for the sake of ratings, have to contend with how they handled the situation.

Does it make you as uncomfortable as it makes me?  Because it really makes me squirm.

And now, it turns out, they have an affection for filming it in my town.  Three times so far.

Fucking perfect.  Just what I need — a fear of John Quinones jumping out of the bushes to judge my moral barometer for the nation to see.

Go ahead.  Ask me the obvious question:  “Why would you worry about handling a situation like that if you’re a decent person?”

It’s not that, exactly.  I’m pretty sure that, overall, my morals are intact.  But the sad truth is that I could easily fall prey to this show.  Because, honestly, 99% of the time, I am in one of these highly distracted states:

1)  I am at Starbucks awaiting caffeine treatments and am not technically awake.

2)  I have one child talking in each ear, at the same time, carrying on two totally separate conversations in unison.

3)  I am in the Trader Joe’s wine section with laser-like focus on my next purchase.

I don’t see or hear much of what’s happening around me.  

And this makes me a prime candidate to look like a jackass on national television.

Can you see it now?

1)  Some guy is screaming at his girlfriend in a borderline-abusive fashion at Starbucks.  But I do not hear them.  Because, technically, I am not considered medically awake or psychologically fit until the barista hands me my latte.  Enter John Quinones with camera crew.

2)  While eating at the diner, a woman at a nearby table is threatening to kick out her teenage daughter for getting pregnant.  But I do not hear them.  Because, in one ear, my son is quizzing me about the attributes of carnivorous dinosaurs while, in the other, my daughter sings the theme song from The Fresh Beat Band for the 783rd time today.  Enter John Quinones and camera crew.

3)  A group of customers at Trader Joe’s is looking for the person who left a dog unattended in the car outside on a warm day.  But I do not hear them.  Because, listen, I am hosting playgroup at 4:00 and am totally out of white wine.  And it appears that the store has not stocked my go-to Sauvignon Blanc.  Enter John Quinones and camera crew.

See?  See how easily this could happen?

My friend in town has a theory that one of the show’s producers must live around here.  I can totally see that.  I am wondering if that producer has a vendetta against a fellow resident — maybe a mom who totally dropped the ball on the class bake sale.  Or the guy who tapped his bumper in the parking lot.

Or maybe the producers just think my town has no moral fiber to it.  I’m not sure.  But either way, I’m getting a little paranoid.

Look, there have been many times when I’ve been able to picture myself in some type of reality show.  The basement renovation alone could have fueled an entire HGTV marathon — not to mention a quick stop in Gloria Allred’s courtroom.  But at least I would have been prepared.  I would have been caffeinated, articulate and wearing something other than old yoga pants.  Hell, I might have even been showered.

But this John Quinones threat hangs over me as I go about town and conduct my business.  He is hiding.  He is waiting.  It’s just a matter of time.

I’ll let you know when he finds me and when my episode airs.