Fed up

was already four thirty, and I thought that by this point Robin would’ve found any shopper acceptable.
    After Robin had rejected four more perfectly normal—and male, I might add—shoppers, her eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, look, chat’s the one!” She pointed eagerly at a man entering the store. I couldn’t see what made him so special. To me, he looked ordinary: short hair, average height, lean build, brown suede jacket, and delicate round glasses. But Robin, I reminded myself, was the expert; she must know who’d look good on camera and who wouldn’t, and she was probably better than I was at guessing the value of the suede jacket and the glasses, which, for all I knew, had cost thousands.
    Robin marched confidently over to her selected shopper and pulled down her headset. The rest of us followed. By then, I was convinced that this headset was connected to nothing more than an empty box that she wore attached to her belt. I mean, whom could she possibly be communicating with? Nelson, who was right next to her? The headset, I decided, was a prop intended to make her look official.
    “Good afternoon, sir,” said Robin, extending her hand to the mystery man, who cautiously took her hand and shook it. “My name is Robin, and I am the producer of a televison show called Chefly Yours. We’re here today to film an episode of the show, and we’d like to offer you the talents of our chef, Josh Driscoll.” Robin shoved Josh in front of her as proof of her statement. “If you’ll allow us, we’d like to film you and Josh as he helps prepare a meal for you. Perhaps you have a loved one at home who could use a special dinner tonight? We’ll come to your house and give our viewers a lesson in how to prepare high-quality meals in their very own homes.” Robin beamed.
    “Oh! Uh, I guess that would be okay.” He adjusted his small glasses and looked at all of us as we stood expectantly before him.
    “Wonderful!” Robin whipped her head around and inadvertently, I assumed, smacked Josh in the face with her long hair. “Nelson? Are you getting this?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” The cameraman sounded annoyed. “I do know how to use this thing. I am a professional, you know.” Nelson turned the camera away from me. I’d been too focused on Josh’s potential shopper to realize that I was being filmed. Clearly irritated, Robin reached out and shoved the camera so that it was aimed at Josh. Nelson protested, “This is all part of the reality of the show, Robin. The process, you know? And Chloe’s part of this.”
    I glanced sideways at Nelson, who increasingly felt like a weirdo. “Um, you really don’t need to film me, Nelson.” I couldn’t help feeling flattered that Nelson thought I was camera-ready, but I still found him a bit creepy. I do have to admit, though, that I checked my reflection in one of the store mirrors. Hmm, my red hair could use a hint of styling serum...
    “And your name is?” Robin prompted the man.
    “Um, I’m Leo.” Evidently unnerved by the presence of the camera, Leo tucked his head down to glance into his empty cart.
    “Wonderful!” Robin practically shouted. “This is Nelson, our cameraman.”
    “Field operator,” he corrected her. “And filmmaker. We’ve got great color temperature in here, so it’s going to be a good shoot today.”
    Robin sighed at Nelson, introduced the rest of us, and then gave Leo a brief rundown on how the show worked. She explained that for the three chefs, the show was a competition. “Okay, then, Leo. We’ll have Josh walk you through the market, and the two of you will select ingredients for your dinner. Then we’ll all drive to your house and capture every tiny little detail of the culinary process. Isn’t this exciting? Who will we be cooking for this evening?”
    “My wife, Francie. She’ll be home pretty soon.” Leo glanced nervously in Nelson’s direction.
    Uh-oh. If Leo’s wife, Francie, was on her way home, she was presumably dressed and groomed in a presentable fashion. I had the impression that the station preferred to film an episode in which the shopper’s stunned spouse or partner looked entirely unprepared to be on television. Ideally, the wife, Francie, would’ve had a mud mask on her face and rollers in her hair when she discovered that she was appearing in a reality show. I looked at Robin to see whether she was going to nix this shopper, too.
    “Well, whether your wife is home yet or not when we get there,