DAY 102: Asking: what would Oprah do?

My airline, today.

OPRAH mania has hit the nation and it strikes me that living my life to the code of a billionaire media mogul – rather than a grimy hack – might be an interesting experiment for a day.

I could just download an Oprah iPhone app for inspiration, but instead I go to the airport newsagent and try to fumble a copy of O magazine between a couple of Herald Suns, porn mag-style.

Much of the mag reads like a spoof:

“When an accident left her son, Ned, paralysed, Ellen never thought that a mischievous capuchin monkey named Kasey would help bring her family through that dark time…”

“The wig Oprah is wearing on the September cover is just gorgeous – it makes her look younger and even more sophisticated than she already is. Thanks for prompting me to buy the magazine…”

…but Oprah really is the oracle of bite-sized wisdom, and by rifling through this epiphany-poppin’ periodical, I find the answers to all this morning’s burning questions as I attempt to fly to Sydney.

6am: I’m so tired my eyes are burrowing into my head! Can I spread this misery somehow?

Oprah frequently reminds us to “live the best life you can lead“. This means no inflicting other people with the fact that you’re tired, even though misery shared is misery halved or something. Besides, if I look tired and emotional, the Air Ways film crew will be onto me like a seagull on a chip.

8.30am: What will I do about the Air Ways film crew at the check-in? And seriously, when are they NOT loitering here waiting for someone to crack?

Oprah would literally open her arms out to a television audience, with a humbled smile. I don’t want any officials judging me too drunk to fly though, so I merely arrange a gracious look upon my countenance and avoid direct eye contact.

9.30am: My flight is cancelled without explanation or apology, what should my immediate reaction be?

Look, it’s unlikely Oprah would go outside and light up a whole pack of cigarettes, but she’d probably immediately put on 25lb instead… so potato, pot-a-to. This is okay.

10am: How should I respond to the check-in lady offering me a flight tomorrow night instead?

I drop what O mag would refer to as the “F-bomb” at this news – “the best virtue is prudence in using it. Ladies should use F-bombs sparingly, but to great effect” – but it has as much effect here as blancmange bullets on a brick wall. Oprah is a “licensed wildlife rehabililtator” so presumably she can get a Tiger to lie down and play dead better than I can.

I won’t bore you with the following few hours’ tedium, except to say that realising I have to pay another airline $300 to get me out of here could be what Oprah calls an “aha moment”, while an Oprahdite might chirrup “everything happens for a reason” at my fury at being stuck in another queue to hand over this $300.

At which point, not being a “people pleaser”, I’d defecate on their luggage.

Keeper? No.