The camera’s are here, let’s bail
As someone who struggles with anxiety you can imagine my reality TV consumption is fairly high. It can really go either way. If you’re anxious about things you have to complete or tasks you are behind on than reality TV is your cheeky friend assisting you in your dreams of things just “going away”. If you are anxious about conflict, people, evil or armageddon than reality TV just makes you more anxious and you avoid it like the plague.
What about the people on these shows though, I mean don’t these people have anxiety?! The cameras following them around all day. Every time they talk shit the other person knows about it and then not only is there confrontation, there’s all the cameras?! Oh, hellz no!
If I were on a reality show, “The Real World Portland” for example, one of three things would happen.
- The first (and best) scenario would be I would stay in bed all day. The cameras would have infrared on me at night and during the day I’d just be in bed watching reality shows as a way of dealing with the reality show I’m on.
- The second scenario I’d go rogue and escape the show. The camera men would catch me on their surveillance cams throwing a sleeping bag over a barbed wire fence. I’d turn around and notice I’m being followed, rip my pants and limp down the street bleeding and yelling “The Real World is after me!” to see if I could get any help. Finding no help, I’d become paranoid that everyone in the world is in on the show and hide in a stairwell in the rain until producer decided that the footage was becoming mundane or I needed professional help, whichever came last.
- My last and final option would be to get drunk the whole time. For some people this is a fine option, but for me this far outweighs my other options as the worst. Everything would start out classy, I would be explaining the difference between grapes and showing other guests how to classify various types. Suddenly, Id’ wake up on a fiberglass goose on a float in burning man completely naked, dehydrated with bugs crawling into my asshole. Camera people all around. Noooo, thank you.
People can’t hardly act “themselves” for a five second snap chat. I’m ready to see some legit breakdowns. Mental breakdowns. “Okay, stop filming, I’m over it.” Goes and sits on the toilet with the door open and takes a loud crap. Goes into the cupboard, grabs crackers and spills them all over the counter. Does cracker angels on the counter. Goes and watches TV like the rest of us do for three hours a day. There’s no way these people aren’t trained actors and if they aren’t the gonads that allow them to star in the show in the first place certainly don’t seem sufficient enough to allow them to be themselves.