myTality™ Seminar (Cont.)
When Mother and I stepped inside the meeting room, I realized I’d underestimated the popularity of myTality™. I’d expected twenty middle-aged distributors raving about the health products and bragging about the size of their downlines. Instead, there were approximately five hundred people in the room.
Mother and I took seats in the middle of the crowd. She buzzed with excitement. “I’m thrilled to see Oz speak live. I’ve only seen him in webinars.”
I pulled out my phone and checked the clock. It was already two minutes past the seminar’s listed start time.
Why didn’t events begin when they were supposed to? Maybe it was intentional. Start five minutes late and give stragglers a chance to arrive. But why cater to the chronically late? If people missed the beginning of an event, it was on them.
I grew more annoyed with the seminar, and my presence there, every passing second.
Finally, the lights dimmed. The crowd shifted in anticipation. A voice came over the sound system, booming and echoing. “And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Clap your hands, stomp your feet, and give it up for the founder and CEO of myTality, J. Quincy Ozzzzzzzzzzzzzzwald!”
For god’s sake. Was I at a “business seminar” or a football game?
Neon lasers began swirling around the audience. Instead of stepping onto the stage like a reasonable human being, J. Quincy Oswald appeared in the back of the room, lit by a spotlight. Techno music blared from speakers as he ran up the aisle toward the stage, arms spread wide to touch the hands of his adoring fans along the way.
What the hell was this?
I looked around the audience. People were rapt. They screamed and cheered and jumped up and down. They waved their arms in the air. Their eyes were bright and shiny, and a few of them had tears coursing down their cheeks.
I’m not exaggerating. Actual tears.
I turned to Mother, mortified at the thought of seeing such naked emotion on her face. She clapped and grinned and seemed utterly in her element, but thankfully refrained from crying.
I didn’t get a good look at Oswald until he jauntily took the stage. He was younger than I expected and wore the uniform adopted by men trying to appear professional yet hip: jeans and a fitted sports jacket. Oh, how I despised that look. It felt like a communication error between the top half of the body and the bottom. To make matters worse, Oswald wore cowboy boots and a pair of sunglasses. Indoors. Perhaps the glare from so many lasers beams and spotlights was intense.
Immediately upon facing the audience, Oswald tore the glasses off and tossed them to the crowd near the front of the stage. He let out a loud whoop while running a hand through his intentionally messy hair.
“Now check this out,” he began, speaking with a slight southern accent. He scanned the room theatrically. “They told me Pittsburgh wasn’t a health-conscious town. But I’m seein’ this crowd, and I tell you, they were wrong!”
More cheers.
I wondered who “they” were supposed to be.
“Each and every one of you is here because you have a mission. Your mission is to become the best possible version of you. Who wants more energy?”
“We do!” the crowd shouted in response.
“Who wants a longer life?”
More shouts, more cheers.
“Who wants to live every moment to the fullest?”
The crowd responded with the loudest affirmative yet.
J. Quincy Oswald walked slowly to the front of the stage, a grave set to his shoulders. He spoke more seriously than before. “And who wants to accomplish all that while earnin’ enough income to enjoy a life of financial freedom?”
All around me people leapt to their feet, clapping and hollering. My jaw was firmly clenched and pain began to twist through my neck and head. And yet, for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to look away.
“Lemme tell you something,” Oswald said. “You’ve come to the right place. Because myTality is in the business of makin’ dreams come true.”
Next to me, Mother’s hands were clasped to her chest as if she were listening to a particularly awe-inspiring sermon. Did she truly buy into all this?
“Forget mortality,” Oswald went on, beginning a chant the audience seemed well acquainted with. “It’s not yourtality.”
He paused dramatically, and I felt anticipation running through the crowd. Finally, he finished, the audience joining in at the end, “It’s myTality!”
A rousing scream from the crowd threatened my eardrums.
And thus began two of the most tedious hours of my life.
Oswald jumped around stage, a