on with Disaster Date, I became more and more creative. In one preproduction meeting, the producer and I were chatting about a particular mark who didn’t like people who were obsessed with their pets.
The producer tapped his pen, thinking. “So, Laura, we could give you a dog to pet the whole time . . . and then you could let the dog drink water from your cup . . .”
That’s cute. But not quite far enough. “Right. Or . . . I could be an Australian primatologist. And I could have a monkey on my shoulder.” I whipped out my Australian accent. “It’ll be SEW much fun, mate.”
The producer let me create my own character! That date was an amazing shitshow, as it was supposed to be. Although there was no money in the budget for a real monkey, so I had to make do by walking on my hands and feet in the restaurant and making ape noises. Hey, I could be my own monkey. It worked just fine.
In Disaster Date, I got to be very creative because so much of it was improvised. I played a yoga instructor on one date and twenty minutes in, I was in a headstand in the restaurant.
On another date, I played a life coach named Teresa and I gave the mark the worst life advice possible throughout the date. I told the producer to call me halfway through the date so that I could act like I was giving bad life advice to one of my clients.
The guy was trying to relate to me when he said, “My sister’s bothering me a little lately.”
I latched on to that. “You gotta cut her off. Just cut her off.”
“I mean, all she did was eat my leftovers—”
“You call her up and say—What’s her name?”
“Uh, Megan, but—”
I shushed his lips. “You say, Megan? It’s over. You are a toxic, toxic, person, who is ruining my life, and I don’t need you. I’m never talking to you again. Repeat that after me.” I looked deep into his eyes.
“She’s my sister, though.”
The mark started tapping his fingers on the table with discomfort. I had him right where I wanted. Then my phone rang. Perfect. I answered with such confidence. “Believe and You’ll Achieve It Incorporated, this is Laura.”
My eyes widened at what I said. Shit, I called myself Laura! I was supposed to be Teresa on this date. The mark looked at me, confusion in his eyes. If I fucked this up, the whole episode would be unusable.
I glanced at the mark and continued: “Laura is my middle name. You know I go by that sometimes. But yep this is Teresa Laura.” He didn’t figure it out. Whew.
I once played a pill popper. (Again, a lifetime of research, paying off! Thanks, addiction!) Throughout the date, I popped Xanax into my mouth over casual conversation. The mark grew more and more worried, bless his heart. After he suggested I slow down, I pulled out a bottle of Adderall and started taking those. Finally I said that I had to “be right back,” put on a literal helmet, and pretended to pass out on the dinner table.
He actually freaked out and poured water on me. Which was my cue to do the usual, “that’s a hidden camera and that’s a hidden camera and these are all actors and YOU’RE ON DISASTER DATE!” That guy asked me on a real date afterward—which was a bit odd, as I’m sure I didn’t make a great first impression.
I loved the risk of Disaster Date. I loved the fact that if I fucked up the hoax, the whole episode would be unusable. I loved the pressure resting on my shoulders. I understood that pressure—I thrived under that pressure. And here, I got to channel my longtime love of thrilling and shocking other people into something controlled and creative and positive. I mean, I wasn’t curing cancer or saving children, but this was still positive! (As positive as embarrassing innocent strangers on TV can be.)
I was never mean-spirited on the show. I have never found laughing at the expense of someone else funny, so when the producers would ask me to mock a date’s appearance, I would refuse. On this show, I was the idiot. Not them, ME. And I could finally add “making people uncomfortable” to the special skills part of my résumé, after horseback riding.
My dating life had always been disastrous, but now that I was working on Disaster Date? It .