O, NO

The other day when I was reading comedienne Kathy Griffin’s autobiographical nutbook, I took pause at her comment: “No one says no to Oprah Winfrey.” Mainly because I, The Flaming Bore, once DID say no to the Big O.

My Oprah story occurred about 15 years ago, when a student aid busted into my English classroom with a note from the office. She was all excited. “You need to call the Oprah Winfrey Show,” she announced, handing me the note.

Upon hearing the revered name of Miss O, the students I was trying to teach became all excited, too. “What’s it say? What’s it say?” they asked about the message.

I scanned the note and rolled my eyes. “They want me for a reunion show. Someone wants to thank me for something.”

Now, the kids expected I’d drop everything and rush out to return the call to the holy one, but I wasn’t about to. I am one of the few people on the planet Earth who does not think Oprah walks on water. It’s wonderful that her little toe makes more money in a minute than I will ever make in a lifetime, but her grandiose, “I’m important” style just doesn’t appeal to me, although anyone who has her own award-winning talk show AND her own magazine has earned the right to be a pain in the ass. I probably haven’t watched her show since she was a size 8, and we all know how long ago that’s been.

Anyway, I wadded up the message with the show producer’s name and phone number, tossed it in the waste basket, and went on with class. By the end of the day, everyone in school knew that Oprah was after me--word travels fast in a small school--and the kids were incredulous when I told them that I had no interest in being on the Oprah show and wouldn’t be returning the call. If someone wants to thank me for something, there’s no need to go on national TV to do so.

The next day, I got the same message again at school. I gave the same response. None.

So, you’d think that was the end of it. But, noooooo. A few days later the doorbell rings at my house. There’s a police officer on my front porch---with the same damned message from the Oprah Show!! Jeez. This was getting ridiculous. So, to get Oprah off my back, I called the number and spoke with some producer lady whose name escapes me. Seems Oprah’s Thanksgiving Show invited viewers to thank, in person, some long-lost acquaintance in their lives for a past good deed. It was going to be a real tear-jerker of Oprah proportions, and we all know how big THAT is.

The producer lady told me who the person was, a former ward of the court, a runaway, who had been in my foster care caseload, along with hundreds of other kids, years before when I was a social worker. Yes, I knew this person, now an adult, but I couldn’t think of anything out of the ordinary I had done for her. It was nice of her to think of me, but if anyone should be thanked, it would be the foster parents.

“She has my address,” I told the Oprah minion. “There’s no need to go on national TV to thank me. That would be a private matter.”

Well, the lady found it rather hard to believe that I wouldn’t want to be on Queen Oprah’s show. “We’ll fly you to Chicago and put you up in a hotel,” she said, hoping, I suppose, that a freebie would change my mind.

“I’m really not interested,” I told her. “I don’t want to leave my job and I hate flying.” Plus, I told her I just wasn’t keen about people dredging up the past on talk shows. I wished her well with the show but made it clear that I didn’t want anymore calls and I would not be changing my mind. And I didn’t.

Kathy Griffin, you little red-haired wimp, saying no to Oprah may be impossible for most of the free world, but for me it was easy. In fact, the pleasure was mine.