America’s Last Great TV Gameshow

I didn’t try to steal $25,000 en route to the restroom. It wasn’t some masterful scheme. The plan was to just, well, use the restroom. Nothing weird about that, right? We were all supposed to be seated, waiting for the show to start. But when ya gotta go, ya gotta go!

Here’s a simple equation to explain things:

Too much coffee + too much water + waiting around while the TV crew runs hours behind schedule = many restroom trips.

I blame the craft services table. It was top notch! For anyone not familiar with craft services, it’s the reason why a recent college grad in Film Studies would attend a gameshow taping on a Tuesday morning. It wasn’t the $50 I’d be collecting. Do the math: it would take 900 of these tapings to wipe out my student loan.

So what’s a craft services table? It’s a buffet worthy of sponsorship from a Las Vegas hotel: a stack of breakfast burritos, fifteen types of cereals, a mountain of donuts, fresh fruit, bagels, cookies, trail mix and a cheese spread that had no right to be free of charge. Plus all the coffee, tea, water and soda any dignified human could absorb. You can’t eat a breakfast like this when you’re looking for work. Not in LA.

Let’s not flashback to me stuffing my cargo pants pockets with as much as they’d hold. I’d like to retain a small amount of dignity, thankyouverymuch!

Hit play when a Producer is shouting we’re two minutes to air, the Applause sign is lit, and everyone’s in their seats clapping with faux enthusiasm — really trying to show their $50-worth of excitement. Not being my first live show, I could do the math. Two minutes to air actually means ten. Plenty of time for one last trip to, umm, relieve some pressure.

So cut to me clandestinely slipping out and fast-forward until I’m about three feet away from the Men’s Room. Hit play when I’m transferring one of the six — yes six! — bagels in my cargo pants from pocket to mouth.

Don’t fast-forward over the part where a Production Assistant jumps out from fricking nowhere! Don’t skip it cause it's important. She scares me so bad — like break a mirror on a Friday the 13th while a black cat crosses in front of me as I’m walking underneath a ladder type of scared. So bad that I bite down on flesh — my teeth mistaking their good friend tongue for the enemy bagel they’re busy annihilating.

We’re not talking about a glancing blow that nips the side of my tongue. No, no, no, no. Remember those 3-Hole Punch gizmos your teacher had back in school? This was a bonafide puncture wound.

Why is this important? Well…

It’s happening concurrently as the Production Assistant is asking my name.

Between the bagel and the blood and the blinding pain that has me seeing things that only injured cartoons characters experience, I grumble, “Tom, I’m Tom.”

Except it must’ve not been clear. Cause she’s saying, “Oh great, you’re Juan!” And she’s giving me a once over, expecting someone who looks, umm, different, but accepts my Eastern European features with a shrug that says sure-why-not? “I found him,” she screams into a walkie-talkie mic clipped to her shirt.

Yes, I was caught out of my seat. I belonged in Daytime TV jail. Which is why, I assume, she grabs me by the collar. My face is frozen in a hard wince — like a four-year-old’s first encounter with sour candy. Oh god, my tongue hurts so much. Then I’m being led/dragged while I squint, wince, shudder, shake and do anything else to assist this pain in passing. It’s so bad — when will it end? But the Production Assistant keeps leading me, which I allow cause, oh man, you never want to experience pain like this.

But why is everyone clapping?

And what are those bright multicolored lights dancing everywhere?

And what’s that music?

Then…BOOM!

Kimberly Marshall — host of America’s Last Great TV Gameshow — is introducing me. Well, she’s actually introducing a guy named Juan but she’s pointing at me and the crowd's applauding. Then she’s introducing my opponents, all the while my tongue is swelling as if I’m allergic to bee stings and just summoned the fury of an entire hive.

Believe me, I was going to come clean right then and there. Many say I have an honest face, and they’re not wrong. I’m a decent and moral guy. But then Kimberly Marshall declares: “As always on our show, we start players off with $10,000. Let’s see if one of them can add to that total.”

Let’s do more math. Ten-thousand dollars off a student loan isn’t actually $10,000 off a student loan. It’s more like double cause most of what you pay Mr. Bankman initially is interest. Think of it as blasting 7 years of installments into oblivion. Think of it as 7 years of freedom. What good, honest, decent, resourceful, prudent American doesn’t want freedom?

Yes, telling the truth to Kimberly would’ve been honest. But it also would have been unpatriotic. And let it be known that I love my country.

So I’m Juan, a 38-year-old symphony conductor with two kids and a third on the way, from Corpus Christi, Texas and am very excited to be here. To my left is Shirley, a 45-year-old stay-at-home-mom from Annapolis, Maryland. And to my right is 60-year-old Arthur — from somewhere boring, who looks like Conan O’Brien if Conan O’Brien couldn’t fully open his eyes.

Oh, I forgot to ask if you believe in fate or serendipity or destiny or divine will or astrological predictions? Cause this episode kicks off Movie Week. Come on! That’s my jam. It was written in the stars I’d rack up debt, bite my tongue, be confused for a symphony conductor and have a chance to turn $10,000 into $25,000, right?

Here’s where I’d introduce the rules and complexities of America’s Last Great TV Gameshow but I’ll be truthful and admit, I don’t quite understand them myself. To drive this point home, the disembodied voice of the show’s Announcer reminds the audience, “These contestants are each 5 questions away from $25,000!”

So…

QUESTION 1:

Kimberly asks, “In what 1980 horror classic did Betsy Palmer go on a killing spree to avenge the death of her son?”

I jump overtop my podium and take off at a dead sprint. Leaping over jungle-themed set design, I dive headfirst into the pool, swimming a comical but effective backstroke through the waterfall then out the other side. Shirley pulls herself from the water first with a tiny lead, but I launch myself into the air, making it to the Answer-Buzzer before her.

BZZZZZ!!!

Kimberly: “Yes Juan?”

“That would be Friday the 13th,” I reply.

Ding, ding, ding.

“Correct!” Kimberly screams.

The crowd cheers.

That’s $1,000 I’ve earned.

QUESTION 2:

Kimberly gives a sly smirk, indicating this next one’ll be tougher. “Which country has won the most oscars for Best International—” But I’m already scaling the rock wall before she finishes. “—Feature Film?”

The rock wall is nothing like it seems on TV. The hand holds are tiny. Plus gripping them is extra challenging with wet hands from the pool. The whole thing is a lawsuit waiting to happen. But that lawsuit will come another day, cause I scale the full four-stories without injury. Unlike the first question, Shirley isn’t there threatening to pull the rug out from under me. She’s huffing and panting halfway up the wall, unable to lift her bodyweight any higher. And Arthur is only on the second hold, panicking cause of a fear of heights that really should’ve been considered before signing up to be a contestant.

This lead allows me to take my time and hit the buzzer after catching my breath.

BZZZZZ!

“Italy,” I answer, while simultaneously securing my bungee chord in preparation for the bonus followup.

Ding, ding, ding.

That’s the sound of another $2,000 being knocked off my student loans.

“Correct! Would you like to double down?” Kimberly asks. From this high up near the scaffolding Kimberly is small but her voice booms from the speakers.

“I’ll quadruple down!” I yell from way up top.

“Are you sure?” Kimberly asks, really drawing out that last word in an effort to add drama so it’s more like sssssuuuuuuuurrrrree.

“YES!” I call back, trying to review a proper bungee tie in my head. “Left, left, right, loop, left, loop, right and pull,” I whisper to myself as I secure the harness chord.

“That’s the spirit we love here!” Kimberly gives one of her spiral, two-handed salutes. “Let’s put 20 seconds on the clock.”

There’s a dong! but no timer to look at. The clock is onscreen for viewers at home. I’ll only have my inter anxiety to pace me.

Kimberly: “In the same Oscar category, the former Soviet Union holds how many wins?”

I shimmy my weight to the ledge opposite the rock wall and look down at my knot one last time, confident it’ll hold.

Kimberly flings her hands wildly in the air and shouts, “GO!”

Tick, tick, tick. That’s the noise the timer makes counting down.

Woooooohoooo! That’s the crowd reacting when I jump.

Zzzzzzzzzzip! That’s the sound of the bungee chord as it’s pulled taut.

The studio floor accelerates towards me at terrifying speed. But the bungee holds and I boing up and down a few times before needing to hit the quick-release on the harness cause time’s-a-wasting. But I miscalculate and release as I’m rebounding upward and fall a good eight feet, letting half the allotted time slip away as I collect myself. But in dramatic fashion, I smash that buzzer milliseconds before it hits zero. Then everyone — and I do mean everyone — erupts in applause.

I have to reach into my mouth to readjust my tongue, cause it’s so swollen now it’s closing off my air hole. Then I answer, “Two!”

Ding, ding, ding.

“Correct!” Kimberly screams, mirroring my elation.

But then…

“I’d like to steal,” Shirley says.

An “ooooooohhhhh!” travels across the audience.

“We have a challenge to you, Juan.” Kimberly flips over a cue card and reads: “To steal Juan’s winnings, name those two Soviet films.”

Shirley is just a blank face of frozen hopelessness. “Burnt by the Sun and, umm,…?”

EEEEENNNNNNNKKKK! A big, angry red “X” swoops onto TV screens at home.

Burnt by the Sun won in 1994…during the POST-Soviet era. Pssh! Shirley should really know that. Didn’t she live through the fall of communism?

Kimberly turns it back on me: “Juan, are you up to the task of saving your earnings?” Translation: the quadruple down is nullified but I’m afforded the opportunity to keep the $2,000 if I can answer Shirley’s question.

However, the tank of Madagascar hissing cockroaches the crew is rolling out for the next question gets me rattled and I end up answering, “War and Peace (1968),” which is correct. But then I say, “Moscow Doesn’t Believe in Tears (1980),” which is an incorrect translation, as the Academy didn’t use the contraction “DOESN’T” but rather “DOES NOT”. So I’m only at $13,000 — the original $10K plus $1,000 and $2,000 for my first two answers.

QUESTION 3:

Shirley, Arthur and I gather round a table where a Production Assistant drops handfuls of those hissing monsters onto dinner plates. We’re bound at the wrists and blindfolded for this, which makes the task harder — or easier depending on your level of neurosis towards bugs.

Kimberly: “For fans of the Star Wars franchise, this next one’s for you. What was the exact runtime of the Star Wars Christmas Special which aired November 17, 1978 on CBS?”

Suddenly Arthur is back in this race. He’s devouring the plate of hissing cockroaches in front of him, determined to clear his plate first. Through a slit in the blindfold I see him chomping away. But the two of us are neck-and-neck. Arthur opens his mouth — sticking out his tongue to prove he’s consumed every thorax, wing and antennae, earning the right to hit the buzzer. But a Producer waves his hands in the air, apparently unsatisfied. I swallow hard — those spiny legs scratching my throat on the way down — and get a nod from the Producer.

I smash the buzzer with an energy that surprises even me. “Ninety-seven minutes, fifty seconds and twelve frames,” I shout.

Ding, ding, ding.

“Correct!”

That was worth a cool $3,000, bringing my grand total to $16,000. But there’s no time to savor this victory cause the crew is dragging out the water tank.

We quickly change into our wetsuits, while Arthur gives me the stink-eye. “You’re all luck today, kid.”

QUESTION 4:

The Announcer informs the studio audience the water temperature today: “28.8 degrees Fahrenheit — the average temperature of the Arctic Ocean in February.” Meaning this is seawater cause that’s below the freshwater freezing point.

The three of us slip into the tank. The cold hits like a thousand needles jabbing all at once. But I disassociate from the pain to focus on Kimberly reading our fourth question: “What shade of green is the prison hallway in the 1999 classic The Green Mile?” She leaves a dramatic pause before issuing the command, “Dive!”

I plug my nose and descend with my two competitors into the icy depths. The cold has always been my achilles heal and here I’ll be tested. Despite Shirley and Arthur being much older, this test might actually favor them. The elderly have poorer circulation, and thus lower core temperatures. My grandfather complains every summer that the Arizona heat wasn’t what he’d been promised.

Luckily, Shirley quits within 30 seconds. She ascends to the surface, spoiling her opportunity to answer. After his initial timidity with heights, Arthur reinserts himself as a serious competitor. I count to sixty in my mind but he’s still hanging on. When I get to ninety my lungs are burning even harder than my body from the cold. At two minutes, I start seeing black splotching in my peripheries and know the end is near. At two and a half, my vision is completely useless.

All my senses are now gone — except for the pain inflicted by the icy cold water — so the safety divers need to jump in and pull me to the surface when Arthur taps out.

Re-enter my ability to hear. The crowd is roaring. They’re euphoric.

I’m shivering hard. It’s difficult to speak. I hit the buzzer, but this time it’s completely symbolic. Shirley and Arthur lost their right to answer for ascending first.

My body jackhammers from the cold. It’s very likely I’m doing irreparable damage to the dental work my parents paid a lot of money for. That’s how hard my teeth are chattering. Plus my still-swollen tongue compounds my difficulties speaking.

But when I respond, “It’s a muted olive green,” Kimberly has to consult the judges, who rule that I must be more specific. So I clarify, “Using the hexadecimal color scale, it would be represented by the value #7B9E89.”

Ding, ding, ding.

Four right answers equals $4,000. My prize money’s accumulated worth is now $20,000.

Shirley tries to murder me with her stare. I’ve dominated this show and now it might be a shutout. Just one question remains.

QUESTION 5:

Kimberly sifts through her cue cards, before finally settling on the last question. “Here’s one from a favorite of mine…”

My competitors and I are placed in a triangle formation with the buzzer in the center. We size each other up like gunslingers. I try to put on my best game face but I’m a shivering sack of misery nearing hypothermia.

Kimberly reads: “What city is the film Midnight in Paris set in?”

There’s a mad scramble to the buzzer. Somehow, someway, youth triumphs yet again.

BZZZZZ!

Frigid, beaten and humbled, I reply, “Paris.”

Suddenly there’s confetti and flashing lights that are bright and colorful, warming me in their glow as they sweep across the floor. Distantly, I hear the crowd explode as it all sinks in. But they feel far away — like my worries about paying off student loans.

Kimberly is screaming. I’m screaming. The crowd is — obviously — screaming.

There it is. My victory!

There’s congratulations and fireworks and inquiries about what I’ll do with the money and a big flashing sign that reads “$25,000 WINNER!!!” with three exclamation points. But fast-forward past all that. Moments of sheer joy are rare in adulthood. Still, don’t wallow in this one.

Cut to the part after the taping when I’m standing in the Executive Producer’s office. Stop here and play this scene after I’ve asked if I can get my money.

“A check will be mailed to you, Juan.”

“Mailed?”

“Yeah. To your address in Corpus Christi.”

Speed through the part where I try to explain things. Watch the part where I tell him the truth about what happened — laughing about the mixup, hoping he’ll find it funny too. Ignore the part where I break down. Ignore the part where I’m pleading. And fully disregard my complete emotional collapse as a human being.

“You should really learn to play by the rules, kid,” he says.

“What should I do?” I sniffle. “I need to pay off my debt.”

“Learn something of value. Get a job,” he suggests. “Plus, you got to admit…Kim really handed that last question to you.“

I’m allowed to take home what's left off the craft services table but I don’t get the $50 for being in the studio audience since I didn’t fulfill the terms of that contract.

Later when I’m waiting at the bus stop, the Executive Producer pulls over to the side and rolls down his window. “Think of today as free exposure,” he says. “Publicity is priceless. See what you can make out of this opportunity.”

End with a close-up — a reaction shot of me watching him drive off the studio backlot.