The Midas Touch: The Gameshow

"Where is the Love! The answer is, Where is the Love!" I shouted.

"Very good, Emi, but what's the name of the singing group or artist?" the host wanted to know. He was a fill-in host, and I didn't catch his name. Being called to the stage enthralled me to the point of almost wetting my britches. Oh, lordy. I could not wait to call my sister. She would be green as a grinch with envy.

"I know this," I yelled. "You're going to be so surprised when I nail this answer. By the way, can you tell me your name again? I was so excited to get on the show I wasn't paying attention when they said Freddie was on vacation and introduced you."

"I'm Colin," the host said.

"I'm Doreen, not Emi," I said in response.

"I know. I can see your nametag." Huh. Really? Who's Emi?

"Oh, right," I responded. I looked down at my right boob, and there in huge capital letters was my name. I definitely wasn't Emi. I felt my face going red and noticed Colin's face wasn't turning any kind of color.

"Doreen, who sang the song you just heard?" Colin asked.

"It's Where is the Love by Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway!" I shouted again, and this time I jumped up and down, clapping my hands like some crazed, middle-aged cheerleader.

And then, the darnedest thing happened. Confetti started falling from the ceiling. Pastel crepe paper cut into tiny rectangles fell like snowflakes everywhere, and after all the jumping, I sort of wanted to do a snow angel on the floor after all the heaps of confetti had settled beneath me.

"Would you like to know what you've won?" Colin asked.

"You betcha. I sure would. Can I say hi to my sister?"

Colin nodded in the affirmative while I waved and said, "Marge! Hi. Look at me. I'm on the TV!"

While I was crowing to my sister, Colin was removing an envelope from his right breast pocket. "Doreen, you have a choice to make." He reached into his other breast pocket to produce a second envelope, and then there was a third in his back pocket. "There are three envelopes. In one envelope is the title to a car. In one of the others is a voucher for a trip to beautiful Tahiti, and in one of the envelopes is a Golden Opportunity."

"What's a Golden Opportunity?" I asked. It was a dumb question, but that was my fault for not actually watching the game show that I was a contestant on at the moment.

"Great question, Doreen. For you and everyone at home, please direct your attention to the center stage to see the Golden Opportunities of the past," Colin said in his best gameshow host voice. He hadn't truly nailed dark and irresistible, but his voice was rich and deep.

Suddenly the stage went dark, and a screen dropped from the ceiling, and golden light shone all around. Huge black letters interrupted the blazing gold: GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY.

The next 30 seconds were at turns dazzling, horrifying, and seductive. The video montage showed a past contestant showing up in a small principality where he was led to a castle, followed by a coronation. In another scene, a contestant entered a luxurious yurt, decked out with pillows everywhere, a California king-sized bed, a spread of food that looked like Thanksgiving on steroids, and music could be heard outside. It could have been Glastonbury, which was on my bucket list. There were scenes from safaris, cruises along the Great Barrier Reef, boardrooms of Fortune 500 companies, and horse farms. Truly golden opportunities. The narrator then intoned, "But there can be a dark side to any golden opportunity, and in some cases, the golden opportunity is just that…golden. Choosing the Golden Opportunity is a gamble. What will you choose?"

The next scenes showed a violent riot outside the castle, a stampede of elephants in a savanna, and, finally, FBI, SEC, and IRS agents raiding a boardroom. The scenes of chaos and mayhem were followed by scenes of a bucolic countryside where a family of four rode horses in a meadow with an Italianate farmhouse in the background. Next was a scene from Glastonbury with a contestant standing next to Dave Grohl in front of a yurt, huge grins pasted on both their faces.

"Before you decide, Emi," Colin said.

"Doreen," I interrupted.

"Right, Doreen," Colin repeated and looked at me with irritation, as if I were a gnat buzzing around his face. "As I was saying, before you decide on which envelope you're going to choose, please direct your attention to the cars you may win if you select the car as your prize."

The screen showed former contestants going home with a Bentley. The Bentley had a huge dent in the side. One contestant went home with a Ford Pinto, circa 1974. And yet, someone else went home with a mint condition Acura MDX. Geesh. If I could guarantee a working vehicle that would be amazing. But what were the odds I'd get something practical?

"Would you like to see what you can expect in beautiful Tahiti?" Colin asked.

"Jeezus Christ, Colin. I don't know if I want any of the prizes so far. Do I have to choose one? They all have large potential downsides that might cost me time, money, freedom. I just don't know that I can commit to any of these things," I said, and I felt sad.

"Let's roll the tape for the vacation package, why don't we? How does that sound Em…Doreen?" Colin asked cheerily, and he chucked me on the shoulder.

"Fine," I replied. I knew it was a rhetorical question, but if this was my five minutes, I was going to get every last morsel of the five minutes.

The video opened on cerulean blue ocean, sun shining and glinting off the water. There was a lone cumulus cloud, perfectly reflected on the water's surface. The next scene showed the bungalows suspended above the water. The beaches could have been virgin but for the palm trees and lounge chairs and umbrellas dotting the sand. The people lying on the chairs were some of the most beautiful people I think I'd ever seen. Could I be a beautiful person? I liked to think I might be able to join them. I mean, I had a Miracle Suit, and the lycra in that thing could suck in even the most stubborn fat. The next part of the video showed a very plain person, someone a lot like me, who was cleaning toilets; someone handing out towels to the guests on the beach; someone cleaning up broken glass in the lounge.

"Colin…" I said, devastated.

"Doreen," Colin responded.

"If I take the Tahiti thing, I'm taking you with me. It's a trip for two, right?"

"Well," Colin hemmed, and I waited for the haw. "It is a trip for two, but I think I'm prohibited from accompanying you because of my job with the network."

"Figures," I said. "Can I just go home? I don't want a prize. I just wanted to guess the right answer. I just wanted to be on a game show. I love guessing."

"Right, Doreen. Does it help if I tell you only one of the three prizes is a non-winner?"

"Can you ask me another question? Maybe I'll guess the wrong answer," I volunteered.

"Doreen, see, it doesn't work that way," Colin answered, and I heard the rule-maker/rule-follower tone in his voice. "You answered correctly, and therefore you won, and for winning, you get a prize. Now you have to select one. You can't leave, and we can't stop taping until you make a selection."

I felt the ugly tears beginning to well in my eyes, and my saliva was growing thick in my mouth. "Can, uh, I phone a friend? I think I, uh, need some advice." Colin just stared at me like I'd pulled a gun on him, and he simply blinked once, twice, three times.

"No, Doreen. That's a different gameshow. I'm sorry."

"Fine," I said, defeated, "I guess I'll choose."