wasting my youth: Come on down!
Glen Callender UFA

One of my dreams recently came true. Unfortunately, it was a childhood dream that no longer matters to me, but hey, that's better than nothing. On December 4 2001, I was in the studio audience of The Price Is Right.

I arrived at the studio several hours early. The lobby was already infested with hard-core Price is Right fans. Many wore custom T-shirts to curry favour with the producers. One woman's shirt read, "Pick me Bob, it's my 50th birthday," while her daughter's read, "Pick me Bob, it's my mom's 50th birthday."

(It is a well-known fact that if you attend a game show on a "special" day, such as your birthday, wedding or circumcision, you'll improve your shot at getting on the show. As a rule, the less dignity you have, the better your chances.)

A Price is Right rerun was playing on the lobby TV. The fans watched it with a frightening intensity. "No, that's too high!" "That's too low!" "STOP!!!" they screeched, as if their very lives depended on the outcome of the game. Their naked idolatry of the show and its host, Bob Barker, was a dark harbinger of things to come.

Finally, we walked by the producers and were ushered into the studio. First we met the Price is Right's announcer, Rod Roddy, the English-speaking world's foremost proponent of the sequinned jacket. He led us through the audience's pledge: "I will clap when I am supposed to clap. I will laugh when I am supposed to laugh. I will 'oooh' and 'ahhh' at the appropriate times," and so on. The excitement was building. Soon, this fair audience would explode.

Then Bob Barker, the show's indefatigably septuagenarian host, emerged from the wings and the madness began. The lights came up. The cameras rolled. And the pitches and product placements came thick and fast.

"From Broyhill, a six-piece dinette set. This urban contemporary collection keeps things in perspective with simple forms, clean lines and subtle shapes. From Broyhill!" ($1563).

"Udderly Smooth hand and body lotion with vitamin E and aloe vera helps restore softness and moisture to dry, chapped skin. Try it! It's Udderly Smooth." ($4.75).

"Heinz Tomato Ketchup! America's favourite ketchup is also a natural source of the anti-oxidant lycopene!" ($2.99).

Indeed, The Price is Right is little more than a diabolical scheme to trick the viewer into watching 60 minutes of continuous advertising. But as Marx once said, who cares? Being sucked into the soulless void of modern consumer culture has never been so much fun.

There I was in the audience, leaping majestically, prominent "GLEN" price tag on my chest. I cheered for the exciting merchandise. I shouted bad suggestions. I mugged for the cameras. But, tragically, I was not asked to "come on down."

Predictably, the woman with the "It's my mom's 50th birthday" shirt was called down to Contestant's Row right off the top, as was another woman with an "It's my 18th birthday" T-shirt stretched tightly across a highly kinetic bosom.

Alas, the T-shirt people had outclassed me once again. I consoled myself that it was for the best. After all, my knowledge of the prices of aspirin and bleach in American supermarkets really isn't what it ought to be.

In spite of my personal obscurity, the show still had some memorable moments. Before taping began, we were sternly cautioned that only female contestants were permitted to kiss Bob. However, the audience's pent-up homo-daddy desires busted out all over the screen when a college dude named Slater won a new Jeep ($17, 280) and tenderly kissed Bob on the cheek during his victory spasm, shouting "I love you! I love you!" Young Slater, I salute you.

The day's cheesiest line went to Rod Roddy: "And to the winner of the chair and ottoman goes a supply of decongestant!" Ha!

Ms. "It's my mom's 50th birthday" vowed to give all her winnings to her mother, touching off the following moment of senility:

Bob: "What's your mom's name?"

Contestant: "Bonnie Powers."

Bob: "Bonnie Powers. Roger, if she wins ten thousand dollars, I want you to make out the cheque to Bonnie Rogers. Powers! Bonnie Powers! No! Rogers, that's my nub, neighbour. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

Methinks Bob Barker is ever-so-slightly losing it. But good on him, I say. I hope I'm still hosting game shows in my late seventies.

The show wrapped, and the audience was promptly flushed from the premises like so much non-biodegradable matter. Its business on Earth complete, the ghost of my inner child was finally laid to rest.

And that's not all! I left the Price is Right studio with a new appreciation for such household essentials as eight-foot sail boats, prefabricated garden waterfalls and handsome grandfather clocks-and an inexplicable compulsion to get neutered. Thanks, Bob.

The following suppliers of products have paid for their use and promotion in this column: Broyhill Furniture Industries Inc., Redex Industries, Inc., H.J. Heinz Company, Don-A-Vee Jeep-Eagle. Glen's wardrobe provided by Zellers.

Reach Glen at callende(at)sfu.ca

[ Back to issue 4 ] [ Send The Peak a comment on this story ]

The contents of The Peak are protected by copyright. For information on rights regarding specific articles (including reprinting, where applicable), please contact epeak@mail.peak.sfu.ca with the full URL of the content in question.