Chapter 11 Textbook
Textbook
If Colorado thinks they have the monopoly on red rocks, they need to get a grip.
I can’t help but judge Red Rocks Amphitheatre.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty. But red?
After months of combing through Sedona travel guides with my dad?
After that one spring when Yumi and I hiked Antelope Canyon?
No. This isn’t red. They could call it Orangey-Brown Rocks Amphitheatre, though. Burnt Sienna Rocks Amphitheatre.
False advertising aside, it’s impressive, especially with the summer sun setting between a pronged rock formation in the distance.
Semicircular seating stacks an impossible number of rows.
And because I know this show like the back of my hand, I begin mentally preparing myself to climb those steps the second I see them.
It’s not going to be easy. The air is so thin up here, just the short walk from the backstage door to our mark on the stage steals my breath.
So far, things have been almost friendly between me and Yumi. Of course, we have been forbidden to talk since we were picked up from our houses this morning. Even still, she hasn’t glared at me once, even off camera. That’s progress.
A petite woman with blunt-cut bangs and round glasses stands at the apex of the stage, waiting for all of the teams to take their places. I suspect she’s Aliona, even before she confirms it by introducing herself. She just has an air of efficiency about her.
“Good evening, all. It’s lovely to see your beautiful shining faces in person.
I’m Aliona. I’ll be your point person for all questions and concerns.
I will also be present at the occasional challenge, and I’ll be conducting your interviews at the end of each Adventure.
These”—she gestures around the stage at the camera and sound people—“are our crew. Do not smile at them, do not acknowledge them, do not chat with them and attempt to learn their life stories. For all intents and purposes, outside of finding transportation, the crew does not exist.” Aliona leans in, emphasizing these rules like the human embodiment of a middle school science textbook.
Rules Regarding Crew, a yellow Post-it note in the textbook’s marginalia.
Do Not:
Smile
Acknowledge
Chat
A little cartoon owl having a thought bubble: DID YOU KNOW? The crew does not exist!
Yumi and I met our assigned crew members when we arrived in Denver earlier today.
Well, as much as you can meet people you’re supposed to pretend aren’t there.
The cameraman, Petter, appears to be a man of few words, even when he’s allowed to speak.
The light hair that frames his square face is thinning, though he can’t be much older than thirty.
Bo, lanky and awkward, is the audio guy.
They’re positioned in front of us now, Petter down on one knee and Bo behind him holding the boom mic.
Aliona adjusts her glasses and continues, “You are not being rude. These people are hired to do a job. If they speak to you and ruin a shot, they will have done a bad job, and we cannot make a good show when people are doing a bad job, do we understand?”
We nod in unison.
“Say, ‘Yes, Aliona.’ ” She conducts us with her hands.
“Yes Aliona,” I, and everyone else, parrot.
She nods. “Very good. That’s called closing the loop.” She draws a circle in the air by separating her pointer fingers before bringing them back together again. “You will receive many instructions from me over the course of this show. Always close the loop. Got it?”
“Yes, Aliona.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” She smiles sharply, somehow charming despite her condescension.
“For legal reasons, I’m required to inform you that if there is a serious emergency, the crew should immediately be alerted, and they will provide help.
However, do not take ‘emergency’ lightly.
If the bat signal is sounded just because you lost your wedding ring in the water, there will be in-game repercussions.
We are talking life-or-death emergencies only. ”
Aliona continues speaking, but these instructions aren’t new to me. Not only were they in the PDF handbook she sent us, but they get repeated ad nauseum on the ADV forums whenever a new fan stumbles upon them. I’m only partially listening as I survey the other teams.
The nine couples stand in a semicircle, facing Aliona.
Yumi and I are right in the middle, which gives me a pretty good view of everyone else.
The team on the far right has big country vibes, both of them wearing thick jeans and white cowboy hats.
The girl stares down at her boots and shifts uncomfortably, flexing her biceps.
The boy with shoulder-length hair and a thick beard makes intense eye contact with Aliona.
The Adventureverse loves their Good Ol’ Country Boys (nongendered).
There’s inherent drama in the “We’re not in Kansas anymore” plotline.
Beside them are the Goths in all black with their dyed hair and ghostly makeup.
If I were making an Adventureverse bingo card, I’d make the free space Goths sent home first. In twenty-five seasons, the goth-punk-emo team has never made it past the first episode.
It’s a bummer. They usually seem pretty cool.
Next are two enormous, hulking men wearing plain purple T-shirts. One of them is white, the other is Black, and they’re both built like brick houses. They can only be pro athletes (probably retired, otherwise they wouldn’t need to be on reality TV). I’m betting football.
“—hours, they require a break due to union rules.”
“Woo!” The curly-haired guy on my far left interrupts. “Go, unions!” He and his partner, a tan girl in a pink sports bra and shell necklace, are obviously the Surfer Dudes.
Everyone in the circle chuckles, except the team in brown, directly to my right. The woman, a mom archetype, practically hisses. Her husband clicks his tongue loudly.
Yumi catches my eye, shifting a sidelong glance at them.
I nod in solidarity. We’ve just identified them as the worst of all possible Adventureverse archetypes: the bickering old-school grumps who will take any opportunity to tell a ball-and-chain joke.
At the mention of unions, they both make faces like they’ve just been told the US is reinstituting the draft and middle-aged white people are first up.
The red team might as well be the dictionary entry for beauty standards.
They’re so conventionally attractive that their faces have circled all the way back around to boring.
The girl has waist-length hair parted down the middle and a smattering of freckles across her light brown skin that I imagine God took the time to place by hand.
Her boyfriend has a mullet and the jawline of someone who (correctly) thinks he can pull off a mullet.
I decide to call them the Influencers because if they aren’t already thirst-trapping on social media, they should be.
The yellow team is a mystery to me. The girl looks like a children’s cartoon turned human, short and chubby with rosy cheeks, curtain bangs, and a mustard yellow tee under light-wash overalls.
The rest of her auburn hair is pulled up into two fluffy space buns, tied off with yellow ribbons.
She’s definitely Quirky, but her partner isn’t the awkward, bow-tie-wearing type that I would expect for that trope.
He’s muscular, with dark hair and an even darker expression.
It feels wrong to call him “tall” or “intimidating” given the proximity of Team Football, but under most circumstances, he would be both.
With his arms crossed, he gives off bodyguard vibes. Team Mystery, I suppose.
I focus back on Aliona as she says, “Don’t forget that you must stay within sight of your crew members at all times, save for in your hotel room or when you are going to the bathroom.
If you book a flight or a cab, you must book them tickets as well.
If you aren’t on camera, you might as well not be here.
Any questions?” She stares each of us down individually.
After we obediently say, “No, Aliona,” she signals for the crew to begin setting up. One of the other producers—there are so many who seem to work beneath Aliona, it’s impossible to keep track of their names—adjusts the wire on my mic pack so it’s better hidden.
“Every Adventure, you will get a set amount of money. This money can be used on anything, though I recommend not forgetting about food. Large travel expenses, like hotel stays and economy class plane tickets, will be paid by production, via your crew members. However, any in-Adventure transportation, such as train or taxi fare, must come out of your allowance. Any money not used will be forfeited back to us at the end of each Adventure, so don’t bother hoarding. Yes?”
“Yes, Aliona.”
“When you arrive at the checkpoint each night, we will recap your day in an interview and then a member of production will review the protocol for the night. I want to remind you all that you are expected to act as safely and, more importantly, respectfully as possible. This season, we will be traveling to some highly protected destinations, and we do not want a repeat of Season Fourteen, you understand?”
“Yes, Aliona.”
I scan the teams to see who actually catches the reference and who’s just closing the loop.
The green team, a strikingly model-esque couple, are the only ones who seem to understand, nodding solemnly.
They look like elves (Lord of the Rings, not Keebler), and the way they nod in unison only adds to that otherworldliness.
They’re tall and slender, with freshly sharpened cheekbones and an air of intensity.
The girl’s skin is almost as pale as her icy hair.
Her partner’s head is shaved to his scalp, leaving a dark shadow of hair that meets in a severe widow’s peak. The Models. The High Elves.
I’m surprised nobody else draws the connection Aliona has laid out.
The story made international headlines when it happened.
Even someone with no reality TV interest would have heard of the two brothers who irreparably damaged several items of deep historical significance “as a prank.” It’s the reason The Adventureverse isn’t allowed back in Vienna.
It was a huge blow to the show’s reputation, which had already been the center of tourism-based discourse for years.
It makes sense that the show is extra careful now.
“In a moment, Jonathan St. Pierre and his fiancée, Carolyn Woodward, will greet you and welcome you to the show. Remember, from this moment on, you’re on The Adventureverse, and when you’re on The Adventureverse, your only concern should be making good TV.
Big smiles, lots of enthusiasm, speak loudly and clearly. ”
“Yes, Aliona.”
Aliona tilts her head, listening to her earpiece. “Okay, looks like we’re about ready.” She saunters off, cupping her hands and calling out, “Remember: Big reactions! To camera! Good TV!”
In my mind, the lights dim. Spotlights circle. Strobes flash. Of course, none of this happens, but I imagine it nonetheless.
Then a familiar voice booms over the loudspeaker. “Welcome, intrepid explorers, to The Adventureverse.”