It was 2007 when my husband and I found ourselves in Chicago for a conference. While he was busy attending sessions, I decided to explore the iconic Miracle Mile, enjoying the sights and indulging in a little mischief until his educational day concluded. And, of course, I was on the lookout for Oprah.
Once upon a time, I was Oprah’s biggest supporter. I never missed an episode of her show and made it a point to channel my “inner Oprah” daily. My friends could confirm that I started almost every third sentence with, “I saw on Oprah the other day…” Around 4 PM, I would sit down with my tea, fold laundry, and soak up her wisdom. The Oprah Winfrey Show was my sanctuary.
When I learned about the conference in Chicago, I naturally tried to secure tickets for a taping. I reached out through emails, filled out sign-up forms, and even resorted to humorously promising my firstborn to Stedman, but to no avail. Still, I flew to Chicago, optimistic that fate would allow me to meet the woman I admired.
Staying in downtown Chicago, I frequently approached the concierge, hoping he had insider information about getting into a taping. I even considered slipping him a hundred-dollar bill (which would have been awkward with my husband present) to encourage him to assist me. The best he could do was put my name on a daily list for potential complimentary tickets, which he assured me occasionally happened. For three days, I dutifully added my name to The List.
On the fourth day, after a long morning exploring the city, I returned to the hotel only to discover I had missed the deadline to add my name. I couldn’t believe it. I was sure my bond with Oprah would endure this minor oversight; after all, I was her biggest fan. I had even packed her latest Book Club selection for my trip!
The next morning, as my husband and I entered the elevator, two overly enthusiastic women in their 40s joined us, practically bouncing off the walls. I assumed they were just mothers reveling in some time away from their kids.
“ER-MA-GHERD! I can’t believe our hotel was chosen to see Oprah!” one exclaimed.
“I KNOW! Putting our names on the list for four days totally paid off!” the other chimed in.
At this point, I lost it. Cue the tears and my husband’s confused expression. Just one day I faltered in my devotion to Oprah, and now I was missing out on what could have been a life-changing experience.
Later that day, I encountered those same exuberant women again, this time after their taping. They gleefully revealed that PATRICK SWAYZE had made a surprise appearance! Yes, the very same Patrick Swayze from “Dirty Dancing” and “Ghost.” I felt a mixture of envy and despair.
I realized I could have been in the front row, reveling in the presence of my idol, while instead, I was wallowing in regret. Sigh.
But hey, it could have been worse. It wasn’t Oprah’s Favorite Things episode—just a surprise with Patrick Swayze. Someday, I will meet Oprah. And when that day comes, I promise I won’t act like those overly excited women in the elevator. Though I can’t guarantee I won’t jump on a couch or two…
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In summary, despite my misadventure in Chicago, I remain hopeful that one day I’ll have my moment with Oprah. Until then, I’ll keep dreaming big and perhaps even planning a few couch jumps.