If reality shows portrayed real life, could we bear to watch?

by Beth Teitell
Thursday, June 6, 2002

What do reality shows portray?

Hint: It's not reality.

Well, at least not reality as experienced by most real people.

I'm not saying Mayor Thomas M. Menino and the playboy prosecutor (and my own colleague, Laurel J. Sweet) aren't real. It's just that their exciting and grit-filled lives don't really portray life as lived by the rest of us dullards.

That was the conclusion of a sample of real Bostonians I polled after Tuesday night's episode of ``Boston 24/7.''

``You want reality?'' one of them asked, waving an empty coffee cup. ``Starbucks screwed up my order this morning - for the second time in a row. That's reality.''

She had ordered a regular latte, but was given a non-fat latte instead. ``It was very watery,'' she said.

Gripping TV it wouldn't be. Or would it?

``The problem with the reality shows,'' another Bostonian said, ``is that they never show my reality. It's always the sexy problems of gorgeous people, with all the boring parts cut out.''

That last bit - cutting out the boring parts - I'm in favor of, particularly in my own life. If I could only find a director to magically excise the drudgery from my own nontelevised life, I'd be all set.

So if ABC isn't Bostoned out by the end of ``24/7,'' how about a follow-up: ``Boston 10/5.'' It would focus on the drama of the workday.

I can see the first episode already.

Voice Over: ``Lara Kagan is a claims adjuster for Staley & Sons. She had planned to wear her blue suit to work, but when she put on the jacket she noticed a stain on the lapel. `I guess I got it when I went out to lunch with my friend Linda last week,' '' she tells the camera. ``I didn't notice it or I would have brought it to the dry cleaner.''

We see Lara looking in her closet and choosing a khaki skirt and white sweater instead. ``I feel dowdy in this outfit,'' she says, ``but nothing else is clean.''

We follow Lara to the Wonderland stop, where she waits with the crowd for the T to arrive. A muffled voice announces the T is running ``on or close to schedule.'' When it arrives, Lara gets a seat, which she later gives up for a pregnant woman. ``I remember how tired I got when I was pregnant,'' she explains as the camera fades out and the picture fades to . . .

Anita Moreno, a young woman working in a boutique on Newbury Street. A customer comes in, but Moreno stays on the phone with her mother. ``I'm sick of his @#$%,'' she says, while the shopper tries to get her attention to ask if they have the white pants in a size 8. ``I'm usually a 10,'' the customer says, looking into the lens, ``but these run big, I guess.''

Meanwhile, across town, John Sinclair is a lawyer making copies of a purchase-and-sale agreement for a real-estate client. ``He wants to close on the property on the 15th,'' John says, ``but I'm supposed to be out of town that day.''

Fade to . . . Rose Pascale, an older woman leaning out of her window on the third floor of a triple-decker in Southie. ``My back's still bothering me,'' she says turning around to face the viewer, ``but what are you going to do? At my age I'm not going to have the operation.''

Now that I think about it, maybe the reality shows are just real enough. Any more than that might be too much to take.