The Year of Stupid: American Gladiators

This is a cry for help. I’m terminally bored at work. I’m not going to make it to the summer, guys.

Easy has been out sick since Friday. Apparently he doesn’t feel any compulsion to TELL HIS ASSISTANT this. No phone call, not even one of his classic emails with all of the info in the subject line and every word spelled incorrectly. Nada. Was I supposed to just GUESS that when he didn’t show up to work today and Friday that he wasn’t coming in at all? At this point I almost prefer ARM and his egomaniacal micromanaging ways – at least then I knew what was going on and what I needed to do. You know, almost. There has to be a happy medium.

Loud Guy has spent the better part of his day calling moving companies to get price quotes and C isn’t here to pass Post-it notes back and forth making fun of him and his ridiculous demands. Her absence really exacerbates the pain of boredom here – and I’m feeling extra stabby today because IT updated my computer over the weekend and Gchat is disabled until one of them can take a moment from their busy sitting around schedule to reinstall my Flash player. Stupid administrative access. Gah.

So, this past Saturday I did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. If you know me (and I assume you all know me if you’re reading this) you know that’s a tough judgment call to make, but I feel pretty confident in this statement. At 8am on Saturday morning walked down to 38th and Broadway and stood in line to try out as a contender for American Gladiators. Cycling girl friend C was thinking of joining me for the tryouts, but she bailed and boy did she have the right idea.

Let me take a step back here. Actually trying out for American Gladiators wasn’t the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Filling out the TWENTY-EIGHT page application form – pretty dumb, but still not quite there. No, the stupidest thing I’ve ever done was to stand in that line and advance a few feet every hour around a single city block in the hellhole just south of Times Square called the Fashion District for nearly TEN HOURS. By 6pm, with stiffened leg muscles, a sore lower back, frozen feet, a ton of new line friends, broken morale, and no end in sight, I gave up. My friend T brought me hot chocolate, and maybe that was all I needed to restore my senses and recognize the futility of reality television auditions. They didn’t care about how tough or fit you were – the active part of the audition was a Phys Ed joke involving suicide drills and squat thrusts. Don’t get me wrong, American Gladiators is compelling, high-quality entertainment and I’m certain I could kick ass on the Eliminator, but I’m simply not batshit crazy (enough) for reality shows. Oh well. It’s the Year of Yes, I had to at least check it out. In the end, T and I got huge, delicious cheeseburgers from Island Burger in my neighborhood and somehow that made everything better.