Robert E. Brown. The Price is Right Acid Trip: A Heathen Among Zelots Part I

Never fuck with someone's obsession. When it comes to my dear wife's obsessions, I find myself often indulging. Last year we had to make a special trip to LA. You see, since she was a child, she was obsessed with the Price is Right. The news that Bob Barker was retiring shook through our home like a semi truck had ran through the living room. Tickets were reserved and flights promptly booked.

The day before the taping I took Beth shopping before we met up with friends. While she was in a boutique, she started telling the clerk about her big plans to "come on down." Beth complained to the girl that we had to be there at the obscene hour of 8 am. (painfully early for us)
"Oh god no." the girl responded.
"You better go get in line right now."

It was two o'clock in the afternoon.
But it seems that Bob's looming retirement had spun up a whirl wind of fan frenzy. Beth was only one of thousands who where descending on L.A. for the chance to spin the big wheel before the big man splits. She began to seriously contemplate the thought of standing on the side walk for the next 18 hours. I killed that idea fast.
"Just get up extra early" I said
"That woman must be exaggerating."

So that night we go out, but hit the sheets at a modest 1 am. After all, we are going to have to get up extra early.



The alarm goes off at 3:30 am. Beth is already dressed. I did say extra early. I guess I had left that open to interpretation and what could I say? We get to the CBS studios at 4 am. There is what appears to be a refugee camp set up along Fairfax and Beverly. Tents, card tables, lawn furniture, sleeping bags, blankets. There were venders who had materialized to service and exploit the Bob Barker refugees. We rented two lawn chairs and began our wait.

Beth was terrified that we weren't going to make it in. But then our concerns were calmed. Within minutes of us sitting down, a portly little walleyed asian man waddled up to us. He had a clicker and a clip board in his hand.
"How many people are in your party?"
"Two."
He clicked the clicker twice and scribbled something down on the clip board. "At 4:30 on Sunday there were 480 people here, but it was a double taping." He said in a robotic but authoritative voice.
"At 4:30 on Monday there were 338 people here. This morning you are the end of the line and you are number 246. Congratulations, You will make it in. I'm sure of that."
"I can't believe they stuck you with this job." I said.
"What job?"
"It sucks they made you come out here to count all these loonies at this ungodly hour." I laughed.
"Oh no, I don't work here. I'm number 1."
"Number 1?"
"You're number 246. I'm number 1. I've been here since 6 o'clock last night."

At that point a group of people filed in behind us and he turned away, asking them how many people were in their party.

"At 4:30 on Sunday there were 480 people here, but it was a double taping..."



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