And They Wonder Why Bloggers Stay Indoors

Teresa Masterson has struck again! You might remember her from when she wanted to take photos of the half-naked baseball players in the locker room, but they wouldn’t let her because they were eating chicken or something, and also because it was the locker room.

Nonetheless, NBC 10’s blogger embarked on another adventure recently, covering a concert in singer/songwriter Phil Roy’s home. Roy recently moved back to Philly and began having $100-a-head private concerts at his house. Masterson decided to cover one of said events, and Roy allowed her to come and bring a friend — for free!

Of course, Roy then puts them to work at his party:

I tried to interview him as he prepared the soup, and instead of answering questions about his music, his cooking and his life, he began directing us to chop vegetables and light candles and carry chairs up three flights of stairs.

OK, the interview will come later, I thought. It’s time to “help out.”

I started to relax when it came close to the arrival of the other guests. It was time to transition from “helping” mode to “guest” mode, I thought. When he said that we should talk about what was going to happen when the guests arrive, I grabbed my notebook, pen in hand, ready to jot down his description of the surely eclectic and exciting group that was to come.

Instead, he told my sister to follow him to where she would be putting the coats.

“What coats?” I said.

He asked me to pick out some wine for the guests, and stole my sister out of the room. Confused, and my reporter’s instinct suddenly screaming back into action, I placed some bottles on the table and waited.

My sister came back into the room alone.

“I just made a bed,” she whispered.

To be honest, I don’t know what I would do if I were covering an event and the person I was interviewing started telling me to serve the guests and do work for him. (Besides punch him in the face, I suppose.)

The night wasn’t all bed making and veggie chopping, as later things got ugly:

When it came time for the “concert,” Maire and I sat down in the back of the room after having cleared the dinner table. Within moments, one of the guests, who had gotten very drunk, spilled an entire glass of wine on my new skirt and my reporter’s notebook. The crimson stain on the page seemed a perfect symbol of the entire night. If I hadn’t been done earlier, seven and a half hours of being an unpaid waitress, caterer, bartender and maid, I was definitely done then.

The guest became belligerent and when he announced he was leaving, Roy asked my sister to escort him out and lock the door behind him, making sure he “doesn’t do anything.”

In disbelief that my sister now had become the bouncer, I followed her out into the hall to make sure “he doesn’t do anything” to her.

For what it’s worth, the guests had a fabulous time. They said the service was excellent.

The only that that’d make this better is if they had Irresistible Ella reporting live from Phil Roy’s house.

Local Reporter’s Celeb Nightmare [NBC 10 via Blinq]
May 8: You See, This Is Why We Don’t Let Women Into Locker Rooms