Let’s face facts. When I’m not going all Flashdance in my Hobbit Dance Studio, or venturing out in to the cold, crazy, people-filled world just to buy soap, I’m here on my couch watching TV. Last night, since it was FREEZING out, and since it was Friday night, my husband and I watched Shark Tank, a show we’ve recently discovered even though it’s been on for four years.
As I was watching, my palms were sweating for the contestants who were pitching their ideas to the “Sharks.” For those of you who leave your homes to go out with other humans on Friday evenings, Shark Tank is a show in which people with business ideas try to persuade a panel of rich people to invest in their businesses. I cannot imagine EVER appearing on the show. Aside from the fact that I would have to put on real pants, probably without an elastic waist, get on a PLANE, and go to a super crowded city, I would also have to try to persuade other humans. I’m terrible at sales pitches because I am apathetic and I hate to talk a lot. This is why I was always in arrears when I worked at Macy’s in 1990. I could not even sell enough to cover my small salary. So, there’s that.
As I was falling asleep last night, I tried to imagine myself in front of the Sharks. Since I don’t manufacture anything other than words, I guess I would seek money to promote my blog and my novel. In my imagination, my segment on Shark Tank would go something like this.
I walk into the Shark Tank room with my usual resting bitch face, and my arms crossed in front of my stomach, which has started to spasm in response to my being nervous. Thanks, IBS.
Robert would then ask me, “What’s wrong, Lisa? You look upset.”
I would answer, “No, I just have resting bitch face and Virgo stomach. You know, you’re a Virgo, too.”
Robert would look alarmed and say, “No. I mean, how do you know that I am a Virgo? What does that even mean?”
“Um, I just like to Google people. My husband says I’m a stalker…” Then, I would do that barking cough laugh thing because I would have nervous cottonmouth. I would close my mouth to try to preserve moisture.
Daymond would take over for the now frightened Robert. “Lisa, what is your product? I don’t see anything up there.”
I would look around as though I were perplexed about this, too. “Um, I write. I mean, I’m a writer, and I don’t really make money at that. You could like put a picture of my novel on some FUBU shirts though.”
Daymond looks down, and shakes his head. Barbara jumps in. “What type of investment are you looking for?”
I would answer, “Um, I was thinking cash would be good. I could take a check, too.” I uncross my arms and run my right hand over my hair at this point. Now, we are getting somewhere.
Barbara disagrees. “I meant how much money.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just need like a bazillion dollars to publicize my blog and book. I just want to have a life like Stephen King or The Bloggess.”
The Sharks look at each other. Clearly, they do not understand the desire to live a life filled with writing and napping. I look down at the floor, wondering if it is hard wood or plastic. I move my feet out a bit to maintain my balance because I am starting to feel dizzy. I did not eat before coming on the show due to the stomach pains. I hear a couple of snickers; at least I think I do. My tinnitus gets worse with stress.
Kevin speaks, his voice breaking through the crickets and bringing me out of my floor staring trance. “What kind of stake are you offering?”
MMMMM. Steak. I would give the confused dog look and say, “probably medium rare. I mean, that way it’s cooked but still juicy.”
Lori would speak up while the rest of the Sharks laughed. “No, honey. He means what portion of your business are you giving in exchange for the bazillion dollars.” Lori does air quotes when she says bazillion. The Sharks laugh more.
I cross my arms again, and take a step backwards. I hate it when people call me honey. “Oh stake. Um I don’t know, like some percentage or something. And you don’t have to be snotty. I have a Master’s in English not Math.”
Mark laughs so loud that he coughs. Lori looks a bit uncomfortable, but she keeps talking. “What are you going to do with the money?”
I roll my eyes at this point. What a stupid question. “I’m going to use it to live on while I write. I could also buy ads. I want more people to read my blog because it’s funny, if you have a sense of humor. Laughter is the best medicine, and if more people laugh it might solve the healthcare crisis.” There. I finally gave them a solid answer.
Mark stops laughing and brings up the P-word. He asks if I have a patent?
I shake my head and look at him like he is an idiot. “No, but I’m the only me. Why would I need a patent?” These people are supposed to be smart?
Mark replies, “Lisa, I looked at your blog before you came out. Plump middle-aged cat lovers are not really rare, you know.”
This irritates me. “Are you calling me old and fat? What do you mean there are other short, chubby crazy cat ladies? You know what, Mark Cuban? I just don’t like you. And why is your last name a nationality? I’m not Lisa IrishScottishwithatouchofFrench.”
With this, all of the Sharks start laughing. Two of them spit water on themselves in the process. I stomp off of the stage as I hear someone say “out.” These people will be sorry when The Lizard King Club is made into a movie. Suckers.