Oprah’s Depressed


I knew it was Oprah because she never used my doorbell. Just
BAM

BAM

BAM

Three knocks. Like it was some sort of secret code. I didn’t bother to get up. The Bulls game was on. And I knew she’d let herself in. It wasn’t like this was her first visit. In fact, I was kind of expecting she’d be by. So I kept my eyes on the TV and just shouted out, “Yeah O. What’s up?”

She stormed in, tossed off her coat and went straight for the microwave. Pulled a brown envelope of popcorn out of her purse, tossed it in to be nuked, pressed the buttons and started drumming the fingers of her left hand on the silver surface of the microwave as the corn started popping.

“Roger, I’m depressed.”

“Mmmm”

“I SAID I was depressed. Are you listening?”

“You’re a mess?”

“Depressed!”

“Oh. Sounds like an issue.”

“Don’t mock me Roger. I’m depressed.”

“OK O. Why are you depressed? You’re rich. Adored by billions. Done with your talk show. Able to move on to world domination, or whatever it is that’s next on your list.”

“But I’m still depressed.”

The Bulls were not looking good. The microwave bell had dinged. She had melted the quarter pound of butter and was pouring it over the bowl of popcorn. I had lost track of the conversation, and the quiet didn’t bother me. But O hated quiet. So she went on.

“What am I gonna do about my depression?”

“Beats me. Why don’t you ask Gayle? Or Tom Cruise?”

Oprah sat down on the couch and glared at me. Big yellow bowl of popcorn in her lap. “Roger, give me the remote.”

“No O. You know how you always get butter on it. And you know how I hate that.”

“If I ask Gayle or Tom, they’ll just repeat something I shoveled out on some show.”

“So? Won’t that help? You give out all the right answers, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. You know that the true and deep expression of feelings. . .”

“O, I got to hear this beer commercial. You want to hold that thought?

“Yeah whatever. You know, people like me, we don’t get depressed. Unless its my annual “Depression” show. The one where I reveal that I do get depressed.”

“O, there are no people like you. No one sells better than you. No one.”

She took another handful, stuffed it in her mouth and glared. “I am not selling. I am expressing my feelings. I am empowering. . .”

For the first time I took my eyes off the game and looked at her. Didn’t say a thing. Just looked. And I said, “Not buying O.”

“What do you mean, ‘Not buying?” It’s that jibber jabber “Strengthsfinder 2.0” book you’re always talking about isn’t it? You know if there was something there, I would have had it on my show. I don’t need you tossing out those made up words like you were some kind of professor or something. I got people who read books for me. They read that one. They didn’t see anything I needed to know there. They didn’t see anything that answered why I’m depressed!”

“No, there’s nothing there that would say why you’re depressed.”

“So what’s the point then? And don’t be using some made up words to explain it.”

“OK I’ll explain it without the made up words, Relator, Individualization, and Positivity combination.”

“See what you did there? I hate when you do that.”

“Ok, here it is another way. And I gotta make this fast cause the game is getting serious. You can sell anything to anyone. Not cause you’re some kind of carnival barker. Although. . .”

“Shut up. And then go on.”

“But because when you talk to a person you can make them feel like they are the most important person in the world. You can make them feel like they are the ONLY person in the world. You’re so good that you can even do that through a camera!”

“So what’s wrong with that? That’s a good thing! That’s how I help people! You can’t be saying that’s a BAD thing! I HATE when I come over here. I should have gone over to see Gayle. I do not know why I come here at all. What is so bad about making someone feel like they are the only person in the world? That sounds like love to me.”

“Love?”

“Yeah love! You saying it’s wrong to love someone? You against love Mister Professor, Mister Fancy Words that normal people don’t understand? You saying its wrong to know how to tell people exactly what they want to hear and then make them feel it? And who made you the one who knows all truth? Why are you more special than anyone else? You against love?”

“No O. I’m not against love. Not when it’s real.”

And with that, Oprah stuffed another handful of popcorn in her mouth, turned to the basketball game. Watching quietly.

Thinking.

2 Responses to “Oprah’s Depressed”

  1. Jayne Says:

    🙂

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