Let me carry my own bag, please

There are generally two types of celebrities: high maintenance and control freak. Often there is some overlap with the two, but they can also be significantly different. Maybe there’s some that fall in between but the ones in tabloids and involved in scandal are generally one or the other.

Not that I claim to be a celeb or anybody of notoriety but I do get a taste of the pampered life for my syndicated radio shows. A few times per year we broadcast from tourist destinations and post a bunch of web content online.

With these trips I can admit that I fall into the control freak group. I want – no, need – to know every detail of the itinerary. Despite the schedule being planned and executed by people fully capable of arranging a press trip (since the tourism board is made up of those experts) I still find it hard to trust them. Everything from flights to meals to activities is out of my hands. While I have a say I am not the one doing the co-ordinating which makes me freak out.

When you are picked up at the airport and a limo is waiting and you are handed a beverage when you check into the hotel and your suite has a fruit basket and handwritten note from the owner, it can be flattered and perhaps a little intimidating.

The novelty soon wears off when you are never allowed to carry your own bag, you can’t open the car door (the “VIP door” as it is known) since there is no handle which forces somebody else to open it for you, and you have people constantly asking if everything is OK and if you need anything, it is a little exhausting.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining. I am very fortunate that I have these opportunities but my point is simply I can understand how a celebrity gets used to the idea of not having to do anything and having people constantly rushing around doing things for them.

It’s not my preference even if only for a few days however perhaps if I had that sort of pampering every day for weeks on end I might have a different attitude – and when I say attitude I mean the bitchy demanding one.

At the end of the day I just want to be treated like anybody else. Then again, maybe that’s what I get for being raised on the humble Canadian prairies and not in Hollywood.

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