Man Up!: Tales of My Delusional Self-Confidence

by Ross Matthews

  Without question, the very best moment of my first day was when Jay Leno approached me to introduce himself. I was hurrying down a hallway between errands when I glanced up and saw someone who looked eerily like Jay Leno walking toward me. It took about a millisecond for me to realize that it was, in fact, Jay Leno himself. It’s weird, but my first thought was, Wow. In person, he really does look exactly like Jay Leno.

  I don’t know what I expected him to look like, but it was surreal to see someone that famous up close. He was more tan than I expected, and it was odd to see him out of a suit and tie. Instead, he wore the denim-on-denim shirt-and-jeans ensemble that I’ve come to know as his off-camera uniform. Not many people can pull that off (or should even try, for that matter), but on Jay it looked great.

  “Young person,” Jay cheerily boomed as he approached. Oh my God, he sounded just like Jay Leno, too! “I’m Jay.”

  I remember thinking it was both ridiculous and very humble that he introduced himself by name, as if anybody in America wouldn’t know who he was. He extended his hand and asked me my name. As we shook hands, I stammered, “I…I’m Ross.”

  He continued down the hallway smiling. “Welcome to showbiz, kid.”

  Seriously. It was like a movie. Totally weird, but completely fantastic.

  A few weeks into my internship, I had things pretty much figured out. On a typical day, I’d leave my dorm two hours before I had to be at the NBC studio at 8:30 in the morning, slogging through Los Angeles traffic the entire commute. Once I arrived, I’d begin the task of distributing mail to the producers and writers. When that was finished, I’d stock the office kitchen until lunchtime. For an industry that demands that those in front of the camera be fit and trim, it might surprise you to learn that, in every television office, set and trailer, there is food everywhere. It’s called Craft Services. And for everyone, except people like lowly interns, it’s totally free. If you’re a higher-up raking in the big bucks, you’ll never have to pay for a granola bar or a fist full of Red Vines ever again.

  Despite all these free snacks, the bigwigs still needed a proper lunch (yeah, that’s free for them, too) and it was my responsibility to make it happen. This was my favorite part of the day, not only because I’ve always loved lunch in general, but because I had a totally illegal food smuggling operation going on that I’ve still never told my bosses at NBC about.

  Okay, don’t judge me. Remember, I was in college, I had no money, and I was working for free way later than my beloved dining hall was open. I was begging my mom for gas money just to be able to drive to my internship in the morning, so I certainly didn’t have cash to eat out every day, let alone buy groceries. I was in college-survival mode and had no other choice. So, imagine how agonizing it was for an unpaid intern with an unhealthy relationship with food to not only pick up lunches for the Tonight Show writers and producers, but also listen to their downright pornographic orders. “Ross, could you snatch me a hot, juicy burger smothered in gooey jack cheese and loaded with thick cut bacon?”

  It was sheer torture! Totally inhumane! You’ve heard of blue balls? I had blue belly!

  So here’s what I did, and it sounds like I’m describing a scene straight out of The Pink Panther, but I’m absolutely not kidding. When I’d grab the food from the NBC cafeteria, I’d accidentally add one extra daily special to the order. Oopsies! Then, on my way back to the offices, I would accidentally “misplace” the extra entree behind a huge potted plant. Oopsies again! Once I was on my own lunch break, I’d accidentally “find” the “misplaced” lunch behind the plant and accidentally devour it without even chewing, like a snake swallows a mouse. Oopsie-doodle-do!

  It was probably technically against the law and I probably technically should’ve been fired, but you have to admit, it was also technically kind of genius.

  I was living on the edge! But even with the excitement of my daily cafeteria heist, the day-to-day tasks of office maintenance bored me. At the same time, I knew I was surrounded by some of the top minds in television, and I wasn’t about to let the opportunity to pick their brains pass me by. I’d dreamed of working in TV my entire life, and these people were actually living my dream.

  I wanted to learn from these insightful and accomplished professionals, so I asked the receptionist to send out an e-mail asking if any writers or producers would be willing to meet with an eager intern who had a lot of questions. Thankfully, despite their high-pressure jobs and hectic schedules, one of the busy writers actually responded!

  His name was Anthony, and he was a relatively new writer on the show. I had seen him around the studio, but didn’t know him well, beyond delivering mail to his office. He was in his midthirties, Italian, from New York, and he looked like the handsome lovechild of Adam Sandler and Ralph Macchio.

  We made an appointment to meet at his office the next day, and I arrived with, like, a thousand questions. He answered each one politely, getting a kick out of my enthusiasm. Having only interacted with Anthony as an intern, bringing him his lunch and FedEx packages, I couldn’t help but feel intimidated as I sat across from him in his office. But it wasn’t long before the intern-writer dynamic melted away and we actually began to bond, sharing stories of growing up and our mutual adoration for all things related to Hollywood. I was grateful for his time and made sure not to overstay my welcome.

  “Well, thank you so much for this,” I said as I got up from my chair and prepared to leave.

  “Sure, buddy. Hey, really quick,” Anthony asked before I left, “is it worth it, coming here every day and busting your ass for free?”

  I answered instantly, without thinking, “One hundred percent, yes. Because I love TV and I’m gonna be a talk show host someday.”

  He chuckled, assuming I was joking. I wasn’t. After quickly realizing I was serious, he added, “All right… Well, I hope you do it, buddy! I can say I knew you when.”

  My internship lasted only three months, but the lessons I learned and the appreciation I have now for the amount of work that goes into producing a TV show—from makeup to wardrobe, to the prop department to sound—will last a lifetime.

  I was reflecting on these lessons as I drove in for my last day of work. At that point, I had a hectic week of finals to prepare for, the holidays were right around the corner and I had already received my letter of recommendation from the Tonight Show producers.

  Truth time? There was a moment when I considered calling in sick and skipping my last day. I mean, there were a gazillion things I needed to take care of before the end of the semester that, frankly, seemed much more pressing. But I wanted to honor my obligations and finish strong.

  About an hour before show time that day, I was refilling the stapler in the copy room when I received a message instructing me to “go see Joe.”

  There was only one Joe it could be—the Tonight Show head writer (and a dead ringer for Ray Romano). An intern called into the head writer’s office? This could not be good.

  My interactions with Joe up to that point were…well, come to think of it, we had never actually interacted, and he scared the crap out of me. This was the man who, along with Jay Leno, was responsible for the most-watched monologue on late-night television and helped to create the Tonight Show’s most iconic segments, including “Jay Walking” and “Headlines.”

  In a panic, I racked my brain for a reason behind the call, but the only thing I could come up with was that I had done something terribly wrong. But what? Then I remembered, “Oh my God, the lunches!”

  I knew for certain that the jig was up. I had been caught. There was no doubt, I was about to be forced to watch grainy black-and-white surveillance footage of myself scarfing down embezzled beef and stolen salmon. I prepared myself to learn a very valuable lesson: how to be fired in show business.

  Have you ever seen the movie The Green Mile? It’s about a guy on death row, and the Green Mile was what they called his final walk toward the electric chair. That final scene was so over-the-top d
ramatic and also exactly how I felt walking toward Joe’s office that day. I could hear the film’s theme music in my head, intense and building slowly. First came the strings. I lingered on the stairway, leading up to the second floor. Then the French horns joined in and my stomach began to turn. Oh no, I thought. What will I tell my mom?

  Next, the music continued in my head with a single snare drum, matching the pounding in my chest. My mind continued racing: Maybe they’ll even arrest me. Oh no! My life will never be the same again! What will my prison-bitch name be? Will it be mandatory that I wear one of those hideous orange jumpsuits? I simply can’t wear orange—not with my skin tone!

  And, for the record, my prison bitch name would be Muffin Top.

  The film score in my head continued with trumpets wailing out of nowhere, like police sirens. I can’t go to the slammer! Who’s going to tape Dawson’s Creek for me?

  An ominous timpani drum began beating, perfectly timed with each step I took toward Joe’s door. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  Here I was, the frenzied climax of the theme music still orchestrating my every move. I had to be strong and accept my fate. Turning the office doorknob with a shaking hand, I heard the climactic crash of cymbals, and suddenly the music in my head went completely silent. I could never have imagined what awaited me on the other side of that door. It wasn’t at all what I had expected. But I was right about one thing—my life would never be the same again.

  Chapter Six

  Ross the Intern 3: Floating “On-Air”

  Deny it if you will, but I know you’ve all had those fantasy moments in front of the bathroom mirror, accepting your pretend Oscar that’s actually a bottle of shampoo. Deep down, we all know that those kind of Hollywood fantasies rarely, if ever, come true. Which is why, when something like that actually did happen to me, it felt like a freaky, out-of-body experience. I know it sounds so clichéd, but it really was like watching a play, and the main character was me.

  I was sitting across from Joe, the Tonight Show head writer. When he first asked me what should have been a simple question, it was as if he was speaking German. It just didn’t compute. Confused, I asked, “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

  He leaned back in his seat, folded his arms across his chest and repeated the question so casually, he might as well have been offering me a breath mint. “What would you think about coming out on stage during tonight’s taping, meeting George Clooney, and leaving with him to be our correspondent at the red carpet premiere of Ocean’s Eleven?”

  This time I heard him loud and clear. “Yes, I would very much like to do that.”

  You’d think I would’ve totally lost my shit, but instead I remained calm and had a moment of absolute clarity. The thought simply occurred to me: Oh, this is how it’s all going to happen. This will be my story. Remember this for the book you’ll write one day.

  I later learned that a professional comic was originally scheduled to cover the premiere but had dropped out at the last minute. In what I consider a stroke of pure genius (if I do say so myself), another writer named Larry Jacobson half-jokingly suggested that they send “the intern with that voice” instead. I don’t know if Larry will ever really know the impact his offhand suggestion has had on my life. If you’re reading this, Larry: thank you, like a lot.

  Of course, I had a ton of questions. “What should I wear?”

  “What you’re wearing is fine.”

  “What do you want me to ask the celebs?”

  “Don’t prepare anything, just ask the first thing that pops into your head.”

  I could certainly do that. “Will this really be on TV?”

  “Maybe. We don’t know for sure. First, we have to see if what you tape is good or not.”

  Um, no pressure.

  I was told that I had one hour before heading out to the premiere, which was just enough time to call my mom and deliver the big news. I figured I’d play it cool at first, you know, for dramatic effect. I sounded totally blasé when she picked up. “Hey Mom. How are you? What are you doing?”

  “Hi, sweetie! Oh God, well, I had a hell of a day. First, your dad wanted me to make tacos for dinner tonight, but Thrifty Foods was out of the lean ground beef that I like, so I think we’re just gonna go to the Mexico Café instead.”

  Okay, enough taco talk. I interrupted her and broke my big news. I could almost hear her heart beating through the phone. “Oh, dear God. Just a sec, honey. I’ll call you right back.”

  My mom’s going to kill me for this, but I made a promise to you, dear reader, to be honest and this is just too good not to share. My mother’s reaction to any big news, be it good or bad, is always instant diarrhea. I wouldn’t lie to you, because if I did, I would have just wasted thirty seconds looking up how to spell diarrhea.

  Minutes later, after doing her business, she called back. “Oh my God. Oh my God! Honey! This is huge. If you do half as well at this as you did when you starred in The Hobbit in the seventh grade, you’re going to knock it out of the park, I just know it!”

  God bless my mom. I was really good in The Hobbit.

  I spent the next forty-five minutes just thinking by myself as the enormity of the situation began to sink in. I knew I was getting the chance I had always hoped for, but I was also aware that I was exposing myself to possible rejection and ridicule on a national level. I mean, I got it. I knew who I was. That childhood moment with the bully in the spinach field wasn’t an isolated incident. As a proud, high-pitched, grown-up oddity, I had faced homophobia on a daily basis, and for a split second, I questioned whether or not this was a risk I was prepared to take. The Tonight Show may have been willing to celebrate my eccentricities and give me a chance, but would the show’s middle-American audience do the same?

  I knew initially, the viewers were probably going to laugh at me. Why wouldn’t they? Who was this over-the-top cartoon on their TVs? But I also knew that a person couldn’t sustain a career by constantly being the butt of the joke. I had so much more to offer than that, and I felt I really had the skills needed to be a bone fide broadcaster. So, if I wanted this to work, I had to find a way to get the audience to laugh with me, not at me. That is, if I wanted this to be more than just a onetime thing.

  What happened next was surreal. Suddenly the very same people whose coffee I had just delivered earlier in the day were prepping me to go on air to meet the sexiest man alive, George Clooney (and that’s not just my opinion—People magazine made it official in both 1997 and 2006, thank you very much).

  Minutes before the big moment, I was standing backstage in the blue zip-up fleece jacket I had found just days before on the clearance rack at JCPenney, taking in my surroundings. I stared at the doorway where every celebrity I could imagine had walked through to greet Jay Leno on the Tonight Show stage and couldn’t believe I was just about to walk through it myself. I heard the audience laughing as Jay and George chatted mere feet away from me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to shake off my nerves and focus, when I suddenly heard Jay Leno saying my name.

  “We have this young intern, Ross Mathews, who just loves all things Hollywood.”

  Okay, this is bonkers. Jay Leno just said my name on TV. There was no turning back now.

  He continued, “Would you mind, George, if he went with you to your premiere tonight and interviewed the other stars of the film?”

  This couldn’t possibly get any more bizarre. Jay Leno and George Clooney were having a conversation about me. Whoa.

  George replied, “Sure.”

  “All right,” Jay continued, “Come on out here, Ross.”

  Roberta, the stage manager, shoved me through the doors and onto the Tonight Show stage for the very first time. I was so captivated by the lights and cameras and audience, I barely even noticed George (and you know your head is spinning when you don’t notice George Clooney right in front of you).

  I said quietly, almost to myself, “Wow, so this is what it looks like from here.”

&n
bsp; Those were my first words on national television.

  In a Hollywood minute, I was in an NBC van headed to the famous Village Theater with a production crew consisting of Kevin the cameraman, Kenny the audio engineer, Scott the talent coordinator, Izzy the production assistant, and Anthony the writer (yes, the same Anthony whose brain I had picked just weeks earlier). These people were basically strangers to me then, but they have continued to work with me on all my Tonight Show segments and I now consider them family. But back then I was just a kid in a van with a bunch of scary grown-ups.

  I attempted small talk. “So, this should be a lot of fun, right?”

  Anthony looked up from his notes and tried to calm my nerves. “Relax, Ross, and have a good time. We just thought it might be funny to see what happened if we sent someone from the office out to talk with celebs. Just be you and it’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, I get it. Like ‘Ross the Intern meets the stars’ kinda thing?”

  “‘Ross the Intern’…” Anthony repeated. “I like that.”

  The Ocean’s Eleven premiere was about as star-studded as you can get, and the scene at the red carpet was insane. Westwood Boulevard was closed down for the event and, by the time we got there, hundreds of fans were lining the sidewalks behind barricades, media outlets from all over the world were crowding the press line, and security was being a real pain in the butt. It was such a tornado of chaos that even though our entire crew had the proper credentials, we were all denied access to the red carpet.

  “What the hell?” I asked Anthony. “We can’t even get in!”

  Laughing, he yelled to Kevin the cameraman, “Start rolling now!”

  Then he turned toward me and gave me some directions. “Okay, Ross, just talk to the camera and describe what’s going on.”