My morning with Oprah (aka my 7 seconds of fame in front of 40 million people) part 1

My morning with Oprah (aka my 7 seconds of fame in front of 40 million people)

 Here is the quick back-story:

A few weeks ago, I responded online to a form on Oprah.com.  The producers on Oprah were asking for moms to be a part of a show called “Truth About Motherhood!”.

The short version of my response was, “YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH! Real moms love their kids but sometimes kids are a real pain in the butt. Any mom who says her kids don’t drive her crazy is not spending enough time with her kids. Or, she is on Prozac all the time.” 

An Oprah producer, Karyn, called me last week, interviewed me over the phone for about 30 minutes and then said she would get back to me – don’t call us, we’ll call you.  Two days later Karyn called back and said she wanted to send a camera for me to tape my answers on video for the show.  Fourteen other women throughout the USA did the same thing.   I asked if I could come to the show.  Karyn said I could come to the taping if I was in Chicago – translation “come as a regular audience member”.

So, for now, I am going to give you the details of my morning at Harpo studios with my best friend.

As with everything I do, I will try my best to keep this condensed or “short and sweet” as Karyn, put it.  I can’t promise I will though.

Setting:  Harpo Studios, Chicago circa March 2009

My BFF and I arrive at Harpo Studios just after 7 am on a very cold Wednesday morning.  The taping is scheduled for 9 am but we were told to come at 7.  Since we spent a few minutes too long in our hotel room getting ready (translation – I had to blow dry my hair and took way too much time), we skipped breakfast and even gave up our planned dose of Starbucks since the line was too long.

We chose Oprah over Starbucks and breakfast because we were afraid of being late.

We pull up to the main entrance of Harpo Studios after a quick but dizzying cab ride from our hotel.   We jump out of the car anxiously and look at each other, reading each other’s minds.  “We are really here.  We were able to leave our three kids with our husbands with just a few days notice and jump on a plane to Chicago.”  Neither of us had ever been on a girls’ trip without our kids.  So, even though this was only a 32-hour trip, it was still a really big deal.

I notice that my BFF opens the door to the studio but will not walk in first.  She is like that.  She is saying, “This is your experience.  I am not walking in ahead of you.”

We are greeted by two guards behind a glass window who ask our name.  They check a list, nod and then give us permission to walk through a locked glass door.  Once inside, a young attractive woman asked our names once more.  Again, it is confirmed on another list, we do have approval to be there.  She escorts us through another door and around a hallway where we can hear voices of many other excited women entering the studio from the general audience entrance. 

Our escort takes us to the front of the line and wishes us a good time.  We now have to show our identification to another security guard before going through another door. 

We are told to put our purses on a table and then walk through a metal detector.  We look at each other and the table of designer bags and think, “Um, okay.”

Yes, this is starting to feel like we are entering the White House and not a television studio.  Surprisingly, every woman present is going along with this process.  We are all following orders like well-behaved kindergartners.    You can feel the excitement of all the women in the holding area – mixed with a little bit of confusion as to what is going on.

Finally, we are both on the other side of the metal detector and directed to stand in a “single file line, facing forward” in front of the table of purses.  Three more security guards are in front of us working through the purses.  We wait and watch.  I turn around to laugh at my BFF as to the comedy of this experience and I immediately hear a voice telling me to, “please face forward.”  Now, a security guard holds up my Coach bag (I am so glad I brought the real one and not one of my “Coach inspired” bags which I have purchased from a nice gentleman on the streets of NYC.) 

“Is this  yours?” the purse-searching guard says. 
“Yes,” I say.

“I am taking these items out.  You cannot take them in. We will place these items in a bag with any other items from people in your party. The last person in your party will get a claim ticket for all your items and you can retrieve it at the end of the show.”

You are wondering what Harpo contraband I tried to smuggle into the studio.  The guard removed my Blackberry, my Ipod and very threatening looking papers, which contained my hotel and flight information.  I am assuming she was afraid I might try to torture the head of Harpo with my playlist of songs from the 70s.  If I make her listening to nonstop, “I’ve been to Paradise but I’ve never been to me,”, she might crack under the pressure and the empire will undoubtedly fall.

After she goes through my purse, I am told to follow the other women upstairs.  I begin to follow a large crowd of “bright-solid-colored-clothing” clad women as they ascend the stairs.  I am starting to feel a little like cattle.

At this point, I remember I am hungry and have not had coffee, my daily breakfast of instant oatmeal or even a banana.  I am longing for the Apple & Eve juice box and Keebler cookies I was given when I was in the audience of “The View” a few years ago. “ Oh, Rosie, where are you and your ability to get sponsors to give away whatever you ask?”

I hesitate before going upstairs because I want to wait for my BFF.  I quickly realize, hesitating is not a good idea.  I want to stay on good terms with all these guards.  I am still hoping I may have an actual conversation with Oprah.  Yet, I am mourning one small dream I had when I walked in the door of Harpo studios.  When planning this adventure, my BFF and I held tightly to the possibility that I was going to get to be backstage since I was “part of the show”.

I sadly realize I will never know if the green room is actually a room painted the color green.  Or is it called the green room because they only serve green food – I would settle for green coffee at this point.  Is it the green room because you are green with envy of the people who get wait there because there is coffee.  Who knows?

Sorry, I did the digression thing again.

In short, and as the Soup Nazi would say, “No, green room for you!”

So, back to the waiting area.  I have already realized this is one of those times that I will follow the rules no matter what.  This is one of those lessons I try to teach a “certain child” in my house.  Sometimes you just go along with things even if it does not make sense.

I go upstairs and find two more guards managing the movements of the potential audience members.  Just like entering the last part of the Space Mountain queue, I am asked how many are in my “party”.  The guard directs me to two available seats and I sit and wait for BFF to join me.

Before she reaches the second floor where I sit, I watch the crowd.  I observe.  I am happy for the women who got the memo regarding appropriate’camera wear’ – bright solid colors – because I know they have the best chance of being on TV.  

It suddenly occurs to me women do everything they can to get to the Oprah show for three reasons.

First and most importantly, we love Oprah.

We love her intelligence, her class, her philanthropic way of living.  We love her favorite things.  We love her courage, her book club, her way of making the most hardened criminals seem sympathetic.  Even when she has women on the show who have done horrific things because of stupid mistakes, Oprah always is sympathetic and makes the viewer realize “that could be me”.  And while we may not always agree with her political candidates, we definitely respect her overall desire to help facilitate change to make the world a better place.

And, because of this love for everything “O”, every woman in America wants Oprah as a best friend.

Many women would say, “ If somehow the planets aligned and I could be granted just five minutes alone with Oprah, Ms. Winfrey will quickly realize I am so interesting she needs to have a second best friend.”

We respect the Oprah/Gayle friendship and we don’t want to take Gayle’s place.  We think we can expand the relationship into a Trifecta.  People will begin to refer to friendships as being like Oprah, Gayle and Crazy Redhead.  We too will get to walk Oprah’s new puppy on Lakeshore drive.

The second reason women want to go to the show is because no matter what time of year one attends a taping, everyone is convinced it will be the day Oprah introduces her “favorite things.”  Need I say more?

And lastly, every woman present in the studio audience is hoping to get just one moment on camera at the show.  Each audience member is convinced she will get her 3 seconds of fame while clapping/laughing at something profound  and witty Oprah has said.  And, in those three seconds, the world will see she made it to the Oprah audience.

Even the most sane woman is hoping that her horrible  obnoxious college roommate will see her on Oprah and think, “damn it, I should have been nicer to her and she would have taken me with her when she landed tickets to the show.”

Back to the studio.

Once my BFF joins me, we both agree skipping coffee was a very bad idea.  It is close to 8am, we have been up for a few hours, we have not had coffee or breakfast and now even our beloved Blackberry phones have been taken away.  It feels like Survivor, Jewish Girl edition.

We look around the room and notice the crowd could easily be mistaken for a casting call for a Boniva commercial.

We survey the brightly colored tops surrounding us.  We try to guess which lucky women will be selected to sit in the front few rows.

We watch the other women chat amongst themselves nervously as we wait.

And wait, and wait and wait.

I am excited but trying not to get too nervous as well.  I know the video I sent in contains funny material and honest comments about being a mom.  I worry that if edited down to sound bites, I could be portrayed as a spoiled stay at home mom who does not appreciate her kids or her “cushy” life. 

Suddenly, I turn to my BFF and say, “Oh no.  What if they play my tape complaining about the annoying things about being a stay at home mom and then follow it with a clip of someone who is struggling to take care of her kids?”

I imagine myself on the screen saying, “By the end of the day, I just have had enough and can’t wait to tuck my kids in bed so I can have some peace and quiet.” 

The next scene in my imagined nightmare contains a clip of a single disabled mom struggling to take care of her 7 kids while simultaneously holding down three fulltime jobs, running a local community center for runaway teens and home-schooling her 8 year old triplets at a ninth grade level…..

BFF assures me that Oprah does not bring on guests to humiliate them.  I put the thought out of my head.

We are still waiting to go down to the studio.  We are still without coffee, food or wifi access.  We realize we will never make it on Survivor, Jewish Girl Edition.

We notice there are more women than available seats in the waiting area.

As a good will precaution and just in case Oprah is watching from her dressing room to see who the “good girls” are in her audience, we realize we must offer our seats to someone.

Scan the room.

Searching for an elderly or pregnant woman to offer our seats.

We notice two women who look a bit older but nowhere near elderly.  I walk over and tell one of them they are welcome to our seats but they laugh and decline. 
Well, we tried.

Finally, a voice comes over the intercom telling us to get ready to go back downstairs to enter the studio.  The voice directs us to look at the legal verbiage on the form we were given upon entering the studio.  By being in the audience we are agreeing Harpo can use footage of our visit “forever and ever and ever.”

Nervous laughter.

Voice says, “If I call your name, please come downstairs with your entire party.”

Voice calls my name.

BFF and I get up and walk through the crowd giggling.  It was a moment.

We are escorted to the front of the line to enter the studio and taken to the best seats in the house.  Our names are printed on signs taped to two seats, which are dead center in front of where O will be sitting for the show.

It is enough.  That is all I needed.

BFF and I had already discussed that if the most we were given were last row seats to the show and nothing else, it would have been enough.

If all I was given was a chance to make eye contact with Oprah and nothing else, that would have been enough.

If all I was given was one second of airtime and nothing else, it would have been enough.

Dayenu…..  (too any of my readers who have never sat at a Pesach table, ask your best friend from college who is Jewish and she will explain the joke).

We sit in our amazing seats and look around the studio and absorb the moment.

It is a beautiful studio with a huge screen in the front and many screens all around the studio. 

I panic, imagining myself on the giant screen ahead of me.

The audience members start to fill in around us.  Everyone is giddy while we wait for Oprah to enter.

 ( to be continued …..)