Televised Failure: my “Price is Right” story
If at first you don’t succeed — fail, fail again.
A story about how I won a shit-ton of money through very minimal effort on a gameshow would be a ton of fun to write.
This isn’t that story.
Have you ever come within a millimeter or syllable of a small fortune —or, more vaguely, have you ever gotten so close to a desire or success-only to watch it fall right through your fingertips?
Millions of people witnessed several of my such failures on April 9, 2019 (S47 E137).
On my February 2019 birthday I decided to give myself a special treat. I was unemployed — and figured I could apply to another 3-month-long interview process. Or…I could go onto a game show and win a boatload of money in one fell swoop. So I headed to CBS Studios in Los Angeles, ticket in hand. (Tickets are free @ http://on-camera-audiences.com/shows/The_Price_is_Right) My newfound LA friend who was going to attend with me bailed on me the night before (fail) but I decided to fly solo regardless. (Three people actually bailed on me overall — should I list them here?)
Here are my manic notes following my experience on February 5th, 2019:
It’s 8:09pm on my 32nd birthday — and I’ve had a weird fucking day.
I set my alarm for 5:45am but woke up multiple times from sleeplessness.
A month prior I had booked two tickets to “The Price is Right” on February 5th, 2019 — my 32nd birthday. I assumed by then I would be able to find a friend to attend with me. I was wrong.
(What optimism looks like to me: buying two tickets to events despite living alone. I’ve done this for three years now *since my last relationship ended). The result is always the same: I frantically try to sell the ticket last second because I couldn’t find anyone to come with me. Oh well. Not gonna lose hope now!)
Two weeks prior to my day of birth — I had a custom “Price is Right” shirt made: “$ince 1987” it said (how witty). I thought it would dramatically increase my odds of getting on the show.
Things guaranteed to increase your chances of getting on “the world’s longest-running gameshow”:
✓ — Socially Unacceptable Enthusiasm
✓ — Birthday Boy/Girl
✓ — Customized T-Shirt
X — Military Veteran/Active Military
X— Physically Attractive
X — Visibly Lovable and With Friends
Half ain’t bad!
Well, today at 5:45am I jumped out of bed — hyped to start the day. After putting on my carefully-crafted “Fun Millennial” costume (clothes) — I took a shared Lyft (because: poor) to a CVS near CBS studios.
Even though I called the CVS the night before — and they told me they had “no birthday hats or party supplies” I was skeptical and on the prowl for some beautiful cone-shaped melon-toppers:
(I wish I could take a picture— but I actually had one of the YMCA chaperones from a High School yearbook-signing write: “Hey Craig! Stay weird! But please stop wearing birthday hats to the gym to work out.” Will retrieve photographic evidence when I find myself back in Wisconsin.)
It turns out — for the first time in my life — a random drug store employee was indeed honest and truthful with me. No party hats (or any general happy supplies of any kind) were in sight.
*sigh* I guess this mediocre personality/face — and this cool custom tee — will have to suffice.
On my way out of the CVS, already feeling a bit defeated, I grabbed a medium (I will never call it Venti) coffee from a nearby Starbucks (ew) and began the half-mile trudge to the CBS studios:
I let a woman in front of me in line at Starbucks and actually had the thought, “Oh, good karma points for me! I’ll probably get called to ‘come on down’ now” which officially qualifies me as a terrible person.
It began to rain on my walk over to the studio — and I thought to myself, “Why do I do the things I do? Stupid shit like this?” but those thoughts quickly snowballed into “OMG if someone else gets in front of me — my guaranteed call down (earned from Starbucks karma) won’t happen!”.
Mid-story character examination: This imagined “FOMO” anxiety has propelled me: through grad school, through successful career achievements, awards, various competitions, and even got me a job in the White House — so I tend not to question it.
Well…nobody else passed me — and I ended up 10th in line. The #1 guy arrived at 6:00am. But, thanks to:
- being cheap and taking a shared Lyft
- my birthday-hat skepticism
- my Starbucks line karma
I arrived closer to 7:00am (but I have no way of knowing my exact arrival time, because although I normally wear a 1984 Casio Data Bank watch — the show does not allow “smart watches” and they forced me to ditch it. I ended up running a block away and tying it up in a tree near a bird’s nest).
I quickly made friends in line. The guy next to me just bagged his dream job the day prior for an edible underpants company. Another woman nearby gifted me with an entire box of peanut butter Girl Scout cookies as a birthday present (if you’re out there, send me your Venmo!). Every ounce of karma I earned at Starbucks was now surely used up on that free box of delicious cookies.
After standing in the cold (yes, LA can be kinda cold, but I think it deterred the other wimpy millennial snowflakes so I’m okay with it) for two hours it is time to “audition”. Most people don’t realize there is an actual audition — but there is!
Stan and his two lovely assistants give each person about 10–15 seconds of their much-sought-after individual attention before each person enters the studio audience. While Stan asks you questions, two other casting assistants jot down notes of you. I didn’t get a chance to see the notepads — but here is an artists’ (me) interpretation of what that notepad looks like:
- Is this person excited: yes
- Are they a sociopath? Probably
- Is drew in danger: only slightly
- Shower frequency: at least weekly
- Will the average-person relate to this guy (not too attractive but not scary-hideous): yes
(This Cracked article does a great job of summing up who they’re looking for: someone “in that happy medium between ‘boring’ and ‘might assassinate the host.’”)
Their curated list is formed well before the cameras start rolling and the names in the audience are called to “come on down”. As far as I perceived, the only way to fall off this carefully-curated list is by being a party-pooper of an audience member (which includes being antisocial, not dancing during commercial breaks, and not applauding and cheering like a moronic capitalist the entire show.)
(To learn more about Stan and the Price is Right selection process, NY Post: Meet the man who picks ‘Price is Right’ contestants)
So — do you see that amazing 2-in-1 mop?! That transcendent nose-hair trimmer? That provocative Bow Flex? Well you better be screaming your head off one of these bullshit prizes or Stan is transferring you over to the Naughty List.
We finally head into the studio about 5 hours after arrival. (The one thing you’ll notice about movie/television production is that everyone has the same exact thought when arriving in an audience to a show: “Wow, this is a lot smaller than it looks on TV — and PIR is no exception.)
I am told to go to a VERY specific seat…this is a good sign! The reason specific seating assignment are important is because everyone who is being considered as a contestant is on a seating-map for the very simple reason that the camera operators need to know where to pan when a name is called (and probably to avoid having six consecutive contestants from the same row — that’s just gaudy aesthetic).
It takes about 20 minutes from being seated for the show to start — in which time any confidence I had from my seat assignment waned completely.
Trigger warning: There’s nothing — absolutely nothing — about this story that becomes better, or is redeeming, due to me being a giant failure.
Have you ever purchased a lottery ticket?! How did you feel when you checked the numbers and your ticket was a loser?
You feel bad.
But should you? The odds of you winning is something like .0001%. That’s like getting mad for not being born to a billionaire or not being cast in this year’s biggest Hollywood blockbuster as the lead despite never having attempted acting or auditioning. How can you get upset with something so improbable?
The answer, from my experience is: easily. That’s how I felt after the first 4 contestants were called down to “contestants row” at the beginning of the show — and none were named Craig Wiroll.
And so…the games kept going. The blenders and Kitchen Aid mixers kept being sexy. The audience kept being “enthusiastic”…but for what? None of us were gonna get called.
The show only has six winners for the hour. Four people get called up initially — meaning after the first wheel spin (Showcase Showdown) only three more people will get called up. Being one of the last people called up doesn’t even mean much…because you are the first to bid, you are easily negatied (bet $1, the next person will bet $2. Bet $1,200 the next will bet $1,201, and so on…).
Well…the first Showcase Showdown came and went and my seat was plenty warm (but my voice was getting hoarse and my hands were getting sore from un-enthusiastic clapping — because my hands have a built-in authenticity meter). My mind began wondering what I was going to do with my free ttime after the show (the answer: stress eating — my go-to activity.)
Ninety-minutes after the show I had an audition for a reality-courtroom-television show (think Judge Judy). My character was “A pizza joint owner who is being sued because a patron felt the slices were too cold”.
As you can imagine, as a very serious actor, I needed time to get into character and get into the zone — so I was already halfway out the “Price is Right” door mentally — and entering my “Bodie — the pizza joint bro” mindset.
After the fifth commercial break — I went into my “return from commercial” autopilot robotic clapping and it was time for the 8th (out of 10) contestants to “COME ON DOWN!”
I didn’t hear anything (too busy daydreaming about cold pizza) but I looked up and saw a woman on the stage next to Drew. She was waving a big white sign around that said: “CRAIG WIROLL”
Hey! I know that combination of two words!
That’s the name on my license!
My first thought wasn’t “yippee!!!” but instead closer to “Oh goddamn this is a dream? Did I accidentally fall asleep in the studio audience? Dumbass.”
After checking my body to see if I was a real boy — I just began touching all the humans around me to make sure they were also real.
As I made my way to the stage, I couldn’t help but keep thinking, “surely they are going to ask me to return to my seat, or security is going to tackle me” but they never did! I’ve become so used to being rejected in my life that it felt extremely odd to feel like I belong somewhere for once.
(I think this stems from the first time I tried to bond with male peers by joining a basketball team. Everyone on the team was friends already — and they only knew me as the weird kid from school. The first time I got into the game, I got double teamed almost immediately. Although I wasn’t the best baller — I had a few moves. So…I attempted a behind-the-back pass to escape my predicament. The ball sailed over the coaches head and into the stands. This is a simple error — and could easily be overcome, right? Well for a shy kid like me, it was the worst possible scenario. To add insult to injury — both teams stopped the game and just stared at me, dumbfounded by such a terrible pass. Then, one of my “teammates” said: “we don’t like you — and nobody wants you here”.
I walked out of the gym and went outside to wait for my mom who went to run some errands. It was 10 degrees out (winter in Wisconsin) so I remember waiting on the curb for an hour in my shorts by myself quite vividly. #FearOfRejectionOriginStory
Anyway — I was on contestants row on a show I grew up watching nonstop!!!…Let’s get to the bidding! My first bid was a world of regret and just a giant mess that we should never talk about. I bet something like $662 for $1,100 worth of shoes and handbags. Truthfully: I bid first so it doesn’t matter anyway, I was still on an endorphin high from being called down, and…WHAT THE HELL DO I KNOW ABOUT DESIGNER HANDBAGS AND PUMPS? Nada. I’m fine taking this L.
I didn’t pay attention to what was happening on stage after the bid — I was still trying to calm myself and remember what being a normal human looked/felt like — still in disbelief that I was actually in front of that microphone giving bids to Drew — but I knew, by my calculations, that I only had one more bid before the end of the show, so I better make it count.
So I centered my mind — and remembered I had a body: check. I then started to think strategically about the upcoming, and final, bid:
My brain: Okay so most everything up for bids is between $500 — $1,500 sooo…just don’t be dumb.
Now it was time to remember how to talk.
The next item up for bids was a new car stereo package. Great! I hung out with some sketchy kids in high school who cared a lot about installing (and stealing) car stereos and I used to know a ton about them.
There are three bids before me this time around…which seems like an error based on how I think the show works — I should probably be the second person to bid because I’m the second newest contestant? The bids go something like:
$1,300
$1,000
$1,500
Any seasoned Price is Right veteran knows the obvious last-bidder amount here is $1. But…I feel a fuzzy feeling in my navel and it tells me the price of this beautiful car stereo system is about $1,200. So…I got with $1,001 (playing some 4D chess!).
*BUZZER*
The buzzer signifies that we are all morons — and that absolutely everyone overbid. Meaning…FUCK. $1 would’ve gotten me up on stage…the disappointment I felt at that moment was sickening. I’m not someone that overcomes disappointment rapidly…or even semi-rapidly. I’m a dweller. I wanted to call my mom, cry, and just walk out…but I stuck around.
On the rebid — I once again went fourth. This was it — my last chance. The bids went something like this:
$650
$750
$950
Okay — much more conservative bids. I originally thought the price was about $1,200 but what were my options now? The obvious bet in this situation is $751. We know it’s less than $1,000 — meaning $951 only gives me $49 worth of wiggle room (not worth it). $751 would give me $199 worth of wiggle room — aside from being thee obvious window.
So, a second before I let the words, “SEVEN-FIFTY-ONE DREW” leave my mouth — I look behind me, to the audience. (We were instructed to consult/interact with the audience for posterity).
And…who do I see looking back at me? That wonderful, sweet woman from before the show who gifted me the peanut butter Girt Scout cookies. And what is she saying? ONE DOLLAR!
No part of my brain wants to bid a dollar. I had my chance…and I blew it. But I wanted to make her proud of me! So, when I turn back to Drew, what left my mouth?
Listen…I’m not perfect. I’m an emotional guy. The regret from not bidding one dollar on a show famous for undercutting-one-dollar bids clung too me, the wonderful woman in the audiences’ approval clung to me, and out came, “I gotta go with one buck Drew!”
ONE BUCK?! YOU IDIOT! How could you bid a dollar now?! You really think this massive stereo system is like $300? Ugh…I’m embarrassed to even know you — much less be you.
The second those words left my mouth I regretted it.
The actual price was $850. I would’ve won the stereo, gotten on stage and been eligible for whatever that game’s prize was. I wanted to vomit.
I watched in a daze as my stomach turned as the curtain opened to reveal a brand new Volkswagen car. The name of the game: Ten Chances. All of us on contestants row played along with the game. I guessed the correct price of the car in 4 chances (she needed like 9) but she still walked away with MY Volkswagen.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been within one breath of winning a $35,000 Volkswagen — but I have. It doesn’t feel good. I fell back into my pit of self-loathing. How did I let the audience bully me around like that?!
We then went to commercial break — and my chance of being a contestant on the “Price is Right” was squandered. I’m not even eligible to apply to the show again for a decade or so…what a waste.
As I waited for the previous three contestants to go up on stage for the second “Showcase Showdown” wheel spin…the announcer called another name down! WHAT? I thought thee show was over. It turns out — while I was prepping for my Pizza Boy role, I mistakenly thought I dazed off and missed the fourth game (of six). Turns out there was ONE MORE CHANCE TO REDEEM MYSELF!
This time…I knew I was bidding last — so I listened like a hawk to each and every bid that came before me on the “hammock and e-reader”. I really wanted that fucking hammock…
A similar story emerged with this bidding round:
$600
$850
$1,300
And then there was me.
Oh man…what to do?
Could go with a dollar again…take the entire “under” game. But a dollar had already burned me — I wasn’t gonna mess with it. BE BOLD CRAIG!
So bold he was.
I went with $851 for the same logic as explained earlier. It gives me a $449 cushion on what looked to be quite the fancy hammock (actually if I had to guess, I would say the hammock looked about $200 max, but stupid lawn amenities are expensive…probably. I don’t know — I’ve never been to the suburbs.)
As soon as I bid — I felt a flush of stupidity. The type you get when you call the teacher mom. What had I done?!
Drew then does his thing: “And the actual retail price is….$1,136!”
FUCK. Goddamnit. That’s nowhere near what I bid. I look over to see who won, but nobody was going up. I had a smile on my face — trying to hold in the tears of defeat. Then…everyone looks over at me — including Drew!
REALLY? ME! Little Craig “Booper” Wiroll?! The same guy who got booed out of youth basketball? The same guy who was the only one to not receive a gift from Billy when he went on an international trip in kindergarten? (Actual conversation:
Me: “Hey Billy, where’s my suvenior? Everyone else got one.”
Billy: “Oh…yeah…I don’t like you.”
REDEMPTION!
“And the winner is….Craig!” said Drew.
I froze. Then I froze again. Is this real life? Can we pause while I remember how to walk, talk, and breathe again?
I ran up the stairs after hugging three audience members and ran behind Drew and gave him an awkward squeeze.
Then the screen revealed my prize! AN AMAZING, ONE-OF-A-KIND TRIP TO…boston.
wut?
I tried my best to feign interest and excitement while the announcer explained the prize, and how I would be taking a boat ride in the canal (Drew was whispering to me. “Have fun cruising down the dirty canals of Boston — I hope you don’t catch anything.”)
Not to sound like a spoiled brat…but when you come withing a syllable of a brand new Volkswagen — a trip to a place you’d rather not go to (sorry Boston, you’re a lovely and historic city, but been-there done-that) seems more like a chore.
At that point — I didn’t really care about winning the game. I know how the show works — and I was guaranteed entry into the “Showcase Showdown”. A frigid cruise down the Boston canal would just mean a tax for me and not much else (I’m assuming it included airfare for two — so I guess I could’ve done to a city I’d rather avoid TWICE since I don’t really have anyone special in my life to attend with me.)
My game was then revealed: Bonkers (I had to google this, as I didn’t remember the name of this god-forsaken game).
So for the shitty game round I was offered — the system can be boiled down mathematically. Some games are harder than others to avoid giving away a million dollars worth of prizes each show and also to avoid giving away nothing — especially to some of the 90-year-old participants. Imagine them trying to play the Clock Game every time where they get 30 seconds to discern three prices at rapid-pace. It would be a shitshow and there would probably be several aneurysms on-air.
So…my game. A non-skills-based arbitrary game (okay, I’m overstating it — Ben Blatt, a Harvard applied mathematics graduate Ben Blatt puts the strategy percentage for Bonkers at 46.2%) where, with four numbers, I have to choose either higher or lower. That boils down to two variables on each digit (high or low). The value of the prize is four digits long…which by my brain (which hasn’t done this type of arithmetic in 16 years) results in 16* possible variables. So…I had 30 seconds to as many of those 16 combinations as possible (which involved magnets and diving towards a “submit” buzzer). I think in reality I got…like maybe seven? And I failed miserably. (*I might be a moron — any nerds want to correct me?)
(Upon further research — I should have utilized Reflected Binary Code (RBC) or Gray Code technique — originally designed to prevent spurious output from electromechanical switches. Silly me.)
The only people benefiting from this tremendous, nationally televised, public shaming are the people I’ve wronged in my life, my exes, and people who want to punch my face when looking at it (I think I have a ~40% punchable face).
BUT — I’m still going to spin this into an underdog story about resilience and overcoming failure — because America loves that shit.
But seriously…after losing my dream job 6 months prior — what sweet life revenge would two cars and trip to New Zealand be?! Instead…all I ended up doing is continuing to flail & fail — only this time it was publicly with millions of people tuning in.
After jumping around like an idiot orangutan on stage for 30 seconds, I officially ran out of time, and lost (one digit away from having the correct combination). I completely, honestly, did not care about losing (for maybe the third time in my life). I felt the game was mostly chance, and the prize was crap — plus I was still on a manic high: so I felt alright.
It was then time for my stupid dehydrated face to spin the wheel (SHOWCASE SHOWDOWN!). I asked them to fetch me a cup of water during the commercial break as they lined us up. The woman next to me asked for some of my tiny cup of water, which I obliged because I’m a Midwestern gentleman, but my combination of diving for the buzzer and magnets in the game, along with my hours of cheering and standing around, left me feeling pretty parched.
But this was it. My time to shine. I always wanted to spin that glorious wheel. I always wondered how massive it felt. I always wondered how easily you could get sucked up in the bottom of the wheel — leading to your demise.
I spun first out of the three — because I won the least amount of money ($0, for the record). This was also my big chance to give a shoutout to my posse back home! I wanted to do a mega-hard spin to:
- Prove to the world that I’m a big strong man!
- So I would have more time to say hi to my family.
So, I grabbed onto one of the grips on the side of the wheel, and pulled down with about 30% of my strength. It was the most I could muster through a combination of nerves and still being incredibly dehydrated.
As the wheel spun — my time came:
Drew: “Anyone you’d like to say hi to?”
ME: “Shoutout to my niece Sami, my nephew Tyler — all the special women in my life back in Wisconsin: my mom, aunt, grandma, sister — and to my wife, who I haven’t met yet — but I know she’s out there.”
Two birds, one stone: say hi to my family on national television AND publicly advertise my desperation for love. NICE.
After getting that out of my mouth — now dehydrated, out of breath, and overwhelmed, I looked over at the wheel: 70!
WOOHOO!!! 70 is a heckuva spin! I’m STAYING DREW! I moseyed over under the LCD displaying the spinners score. I was feeling very confident — by my calculations only 6 solo spaces (75–100) could outdo me — and spinning twice was always risky.
The next spinner spun once: 35 (lol, not gonna cut it buddy). Next spin: 80 (or something) BUZZZZZZZ — OVERBID! GO HOME!
Man I was feeling good. Calm yet excited. Comfortable. I was getting used to being up here on this stage. I belonged here!
Then, it was the nice woman who won MY Volkswagen turn. The woman who I offered my water, despite being dehydrated. Up on the Price is Right stage, there are no friends — for now, she was my archnemesis.
She walked up to the wheel like it was a foreign object to her (UGH, DOES SHE EVEN WATCH THE SHOW?!?! my mean-spirited competitive internal dialogue muttered.)
She gave it a weak little pull and it didn’t even look like it wasn’t even gonna make it around once — meaning she will have to respin. I was not at all threatened by this Beta. Natural selection should take it’s curse and I will soon be moving on to the Final Showcase I thought.
Wait…
Wait a second, it might actually make it around once.
WAIT A GODDAMN SECOND!
It did. It made it around exactly once. SHE LANDED ON ONE DOLLAR.
Wait! The wheel was still moving and the needle was then teetering on the knob between a dollar and the next amount…15 cents.
Drew leaned in closer to get a better look.
I leaned in waiting for it to click over to 15 cents.
That’s when my heart got ripped out of my chest. The buzzers started going off. She officially did it — she had the top possible spin, $1.00.
I fell over in disbelief. AGAIN?! I FAILED AGAIN?! By a millimeter. Where is the stage manager? I need to have a word with them for not oiling that wheel better. If only I’d gone after her. If only I wouldn’t have let that woman in front of me at Starbucks. If only I didn’t eat chicken wings as my first meal after being vegan from age 13–17.
The rich get richer. First, she takes my Volkswagen. Then she takes my water. THEN she outspins me AND wins $10,000 for her perfect spin.
The world isn’t fair, man.
So, for review, let’s go over all of my failings:
- Misbid on the bunch off shoes and was off by like $600 (fine)
- Midbid TWICE on the speakers which would’ve resulted in a guaranteed car (ouch)
- Flubbed the game of chance and looked like a buffoon on national television (eh)
- Got outspun by a frail, yet fully hydrated, car thief (why!)
I lost sleep that night. Just recounting my mistakes that led to my missing out on the car and instead being offered the depressing cruise was completely in my control — and I failed.
I’ve never, nor will I ever, own a new car. This was it — my one chance. And how cool would it have been to own a souvenir of your experience of being on the world’s longest running gameshow like that?! I was so so excited to pay my taxes on that baby.
But, let’s be emotionally logical about this. How many free cars did I walk into that studio with? How many free cars did I have last week?
Greed and regret are crazy drugs — how can I possibly miss something I never had?!
Answer: easily.
It was one bid away. One syllable. One millimeter one the wheel. One!
But, Craig, you could’ve just not gotten on stage at all. You never would’ve had the chance to shout out to your niece & nephew! Plus — you walk away with something invaluable: a story (and a hammock!).
Isn’t that priceless?
Sure…BUT I WANT A CAR!
Okay — fine. In hindsight, I definitely walked away with an above-average experience.
Does that mean I will stop resenting that woman who is currently driving around in my Volkswagen — loving her flawless life?
Never.
Note: If you need me, I’ll be over here chillin’ in this hammock I won on contestants row. The one soaked with regret and tears.
—
The Takeaway: is there any benefit of a near-win?
“Success motivates us, but a near win can propel us in an ongoing quest. One of the most vivid examples of this comes when we look at the difference between Olympic silver medalists and bronze medalists after a competition. Thomas Gilovich and his team from Cornell studied this difference and found that the frustration silver medalists feel compared to bronze, who are typically a bit more happy to have just not received fourth place and not medaled at all, gives silver medalists a focus on follow-up competition.”
Part of the reason that the near win is inbuilt to mastery is because the greater our proficiency, the more clearly we might see that we don’t know all that we thought we did. It’s called the Dunning–Kruger effect. The Paris Review got it out of James Baldwin when they asked him, “What do you think increases with knowledge?” and he said, “You learn how little you know.”
We thrive not when we’ve done it all, but when we still have more to do… Coming close to what you thought you wanted can help you attain more than you ever dreamed you could.
— Sarah Lewis, TED2014
I don’t know if there is one ounce of me that aligns with the mindset of “everything happens for a reason”. A lot of people take that to mean two things though:
- The things that happen, even the negative things, shape who we are and have a higher purpose beyond our comprehension.
- We have absolutely no free will and whatever will happen will happen.
I’m no hedonist — but I still subscribe to the, “avoid misery and bad shit” mindset.
I think the “everything happens” mindset becomes not only a coping mechanism, but also excuses our shitty behavior. “Well, Judith doesn’t want to be my friend anymore. That’s fine — everything happens for a reason.”
Yes Karen — and that reason is that you are an insufferable selfish jackass. Fix yourself instead of patting yourself on the back! /rant
I told Stan, almost verbatim: “I work with nonprofits and teachers to use technology to make the world a better place. But really I’m here as Uncle Craig — trying to be the world’s best uncle to my niece and nephew. If I win anything of value at all — I am going to fly them out to the west coast and bring them to Disney Land!”
My sister lives on a teacher’s salary and I know that unless I win a big prize--getting them out of Wisconsin, much less somewhere like Disney Land, is borderline impossible.
When I told Stan that — I got this crazy internal motivation to keep my energy high to get on the show for them!
On the episode of Hidden Brain: “Close Enough”, a University of Chicago professor discusses how we perceive things to be easier from afar. I’ve always been that person — but now I’m the first to admit performance anxiety is a real thing on TPIR. For me though, it is possibly the worst excuse of all time.
If you go back and look at the footage-you can probably see my tongue and face mouthing “$851" but I gave one last glance back to the helpful, animalistic, shouting audience. And there was the smiling face of a woman is made friends with earlier in the day in line while waiting. Not only was she one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, but she gave me an ENTIRE BOX OF PEANUT BUTTER GIRL SCOUT COOKIES. So-at that one last turnaround, when I saw her lovely smiling face shouting “one dollar one dollar!” I felt like an asshole for disobeying my, now friend’s, advice. So, against all better judgement, I reluctantly utter “I gotta go with one buck, Drew”. Hopefully the regret in my voice is as obvious as it was in my soul.
“It’s a lot easier to watch someone do something than to actually do it yourself.”
I’m “reading” this pop-psych book “The Courage to Be Disliked” by Ichiro Kishimi & Fumitake Koga that talks about maintaining the realm of possibility — opposed to trying and failing and proving ourselves incapable. I had a hard time relating to the book because I love eliminating that realm.
The books then veers into unrequited love — and how we use excuses (such as a woman embarrassed by her blushing) to put off shooting her shot on her true desires (asking a crush out). But, if her blushing problem we’re magically cured--would she shoot that shot? Or would she find a new excuse? Another example: a novelist who claims they don’t have time to write — but the philosopher states they’re using their lack of time as an excuse: they’re afraid to try writing for fear that they would fail. (Well — look at me writing/publishing this! Eat it, fear!)
Too often we fabricate excuses for not trying something. We talk ourselves into believing they’re outlandish. I either wasn’t born with that gene-or was conditioned out of it. It probably makes me brash, or cocky, and probably annoying.
But I’m grateful for my willingness to try. To shoot my shot. I’ve failed 1,000 times in my life. At this point — it’s just hard to be scared by it. Stay tuned…plenty of more failures coming soon.
— Craig Wiroll
Consistent Failure
Craig Wiroll is a frozen custard aficionado from the Midwest. He is the author of 26 unpublished books that mysteriously burned in a barn fire in 2014. He is a has-been a reality television “star”, game show failure, Asian elephant rehabilitator, waterfall repairman, two-time garlic eating champion, and also worked at Pizza Hut and The White House.
He lives alone with nobody — oftentimes out of the back of his Prius.
Wiroll.com
Medium.com/@wiroll
Linkedin.com/in/wiroll
twitter.com/wiroll
instagram.com/wiroll
