On
October 26, 2012, I got to check one item off my life’s Bucket List. It wasn’t an epic item like climbing Mt.
Everest, or a romantic one like drinking champagne at the top of the Eiffel
Tower. It was just silly and fun: I competed (and won) on Let’s Make A Deal!
The show taped three
months before its actual airdate. My family and I were in southern California
visiting my retired parents. Looking for
something new to do, my mom and I decided a game show would be a hoot. But
which one? For me there were only two options: The Price is Right or Let’s
Make a Deal. Both were favorites of mine growing up. Research revealed that
LMAD offered better odds of actually getting to compete (plus Wayne Brady is
A-DOR-A-BLE), so LMAD it was!
I went online and ordered the free
tickets. At six a.m. the day of the show, my mom and I left her home in Laguna
Niguel with the GPS set for Sunset Bronson Studios. Nearing our destination, I was
sure the GPS had steered us wrong. This
didn’t look like the Hollywood of my dreams. Bars on windows, graffiti on
doors…I began to feel like Chevy Chase, crawling through the streets of St.
Louis: “ROLL ‘EM UP!”
Just as I was considering pulling
over and re-entering the address into the obviously misguided GPS, the studio
appeared like magic, a beautiful white building with a landscaped lawn and a
gated parking lot. (I swear I heard harps) Relieved, I pulled in, ticket extended.
“Sorry,” said the guard.
“Contestants park on the street.” I
looked around frantically, hoping Wayne might suddenly appear and intervene on
my behalf, but no such luck. I backed out under the guard’s amused gaze, and
twenty minutes later managed to find a parking spot five blocks away.
My mom and me
Arm-in-arm (and costumed, mind you),
my 75 year-old mother and I braved the inner city. Thankfully, it was an uneventful
walk to the studio. No one shot at us or tried to sell us crack. In fact our only moment of consternation came
from a homeless man indignantly shouting at us from across the street, “I don’t like you!”
We rounded the last block and there
lined up on the sidewalk was a parade of costumed contestants. Hallelujah, we made it! We took our place in
line, chatting with a woman in her 60’s dressed like a slutty French Maid, a
brother and sister team from New Jersey decked out like the Blues Brothers, and
a bearded man wearing a diaper. More and more contestants joined the lineup.
What a sight we must have been! I dearly
wish I could have taken a picture, but cameras are strictly verboten at game
shows. I had followed the show’s instructions and left mine in the car.
Before we knew it, LMAD personnel
were out on the sidewalk, assessing what they had to work with for the day.
They handed out paperwork, and ushered us through airport-like security with
“Vinny” serving as TSA. (Ok, I don’t know if that’s his real name, but he looked and talked like a Brooklyn bouncer). The French Maid from
the sidewalk decided she was smarter than Vinny and tried to sneak her cell
phone in. Busted! The phone got confiscated and put in a gallon size baggie (just like a crime scene gun!) I inwardly congratulated myself on always being a
rule-following, goody two shoes.
Processing came next. One by one we
went through a row of seated staffers. I
handed my drivers license to a young man, who looked at it and said, “No way!
You’re from Holdrege [Nebraska]? I’m from Sutton [Nebraska]! Small world, huh?”
The other staffers looked on perplexed. Most, I assume were natives of
California where this kind of exchange is unheard of. “You’re
from San Diego? I’m from San Francisco! Oh my God!”
Processing done, we received our
nametags and went to wait in a holding area. Everyone was super excited. Without
cell phones, the only thing we could do was talk to one another (what a
concept!). A young, pretty thing in trendy
glasses came out, clipboard in hand. We clapped. She was the first of about ten
staffers to BEG us to be quiet. (Apparently the holding area was near
some crabby offices that complained incessantly about the noise from LMADers.) I’m a teacher, so I know something about
noise management. The staffers didn’t have a prayer. There were nearly 300 of
us, dressed in ridiculous costumes, with an hour or more of wait time. Quiet? Good
luck with that.
Finally it was show time! We were
led into the studio, which was beautiful, modern, and clean. After we were all
seated, a staffer in charge of camera aesthetics looked us over appraisingly
and started rearranging: “You, giraffe,
move over here. That’s better!”
The show began, and my mom turned on
her heretohidden power of x-ray vision: “The car’s behind Number Three,” she whispered to me. And it was. Or “The Zonk’s in the box.” Again, it was. I
don’t know how she did it, but she never
missed. The only thing she got wrong was her prediction that I was going to get
picked.
“That producer keeps looking at you,” she said.
“Mom,” I sighed, “the music guy is
RIGHT BEHIND US. They’re just cuing him, that’s all.” Mom smiled, satisfied she
was right. Another contestant came and
went (and got Zonked, sad to say) and Wayne announced the Big Deal of the Day.
Well
that’s it, I thought. You didn’t make
it on.
The show went to break, and I looked
at my mom, hoping she wasn’t too disappointed. Her grin was still in place.
Wayne came back out and, low and behold, had one more game to offer. “Who wants
my Let’s Make A Deal ATM Card?!” he
called out. We all jumped to our feet, and
damn if Mom wasn’t right….I got picked!
“Told you,” she laughed pushing me
into the aisle. This was it! This was the moment I’d imagined a million times
growing up. I high-fived everyone on my jog to the front, gave Wayne an elated
hug, giggled like a school girl, and waited for him to give me the keys to my
brand new Porsche. Wayne had other ideas, though. He offered me the ATM card
and one short minute later, I had $1400 in cash, CH-CHING!
I’d done it! I’d won! But Wayne wasn’t finished
with me yet.
It was time to make a deal. I could keep the cash and walk away. Or....I
could give back half the amount and take what was in the mystery box. Or....I could give back ALL the money and take what was
behind Curtain Number One.
The audience went bezerk, chanting “TAKE
THE CURTAIN! TAKE THE CURTAIN!” What to do? My left brain told me $1400 was a
nice chunk of change--quit while you’re ahead. But my right brain argued,
“What’s the fun in that?” Right brain won.
“I’ll take the curtain!” I handed
the money back to Wayne. The adage “A
fool and his money are soon parted” flashed through my mind. They opened
the mystery box first (the option I didn’t take). It was a Zonk. Holy cow! I’d
won something big for sure. Was it a
car? A boat? A trip to Belize? My heart thudded. The curtain opened, and there sat
a huge, gleaming stainless steel stove that looked like it belonged in a five-star
restaurant. I don’t remember much beyond that except jumping up and down, clapping, and running onto to the set to check out my prize. A set of bakeware
and some gourmet cupcakes were also thrown in, total value: $4082. Victory!!!!
Mom and I left the studio that afternoon, happy,
exhausted, and starving. What a day. I flew back to Nebraska two days later and
resumed my regular life. I often wonder, like many people do, why certain
events occur in our lives. Was going on Let’s
Make a Deal just meant to be a fun experience? Or was it meant as a link to
something else? Maybe it was meant to be fodder for the Priscilla Willa chapter books I write for eight to ten year olds. Who knows? Even though the show is done, I’m still
enjoying the rewards of participating in it. I’ve been invited to speak about
LMAD at several clubs. Best of all, people I don’t even know stop me at the
grocery store or the Y to congratulate me and chat about my experience. Warm
fuzzies all over! Now that’s a deal!
