I was supposed to leave L.A. in two weeks. My plane ticket was non-returnable and non-exchangeable. I was stuck. A new plane ticket would have cost almost as much (if not more) than accommodation for two weeks so I decided to stick around instead and checked into a cheap hotel. As soon as I got up to my room, I dropped off my bags, changed my clothes, grabbed my sunglasses and wallet and headed out into the city.
I found L.A. to be a horrible place. Being from a small town, I'd already found it difficult to adjust to just Chicago, my current place of residence. But compared to the Windy City, the City of Angels was in a league of its own. Before now I'd never had a chance to really see the city around me. During the competition we commuted solely between the dorms and the kitchen as well as the few scarce outdoor challenge locations and reward excursions. Even during those the contestants were among just each other, and none of us was a native Californian.
What shocked me the most about this city was the amount of fake, vapid, superficial people. They were everywhere. And I thought Chef Ramsay's laser treatments, tooth veneers, hair transplants and fake tan were bad! Life seemed to center around looks here. If you weren't attractive, you were garbage.
I decided to head to Venice Beach. In my toned-down casual outfit of a white t-shirt, gray shorts and sandals, I stuck out like sore thumb from the crowd. I found a quiet little café and sat down. As I was sipping a chai latte my phone beeped. A text message. I hadn't told anyone at home that I'd been kicked off the show yet so there was really no reason for anyone to contact me. Before I left I'd told my friends and family that my phone would be turned off during the entire competition. I checked my phone. The text message had come from an unknown number. The cryptic message included an address, "1024″ and "11 PM". It was signed by GR. My heart skipped a beat. 11 PM could not come soon enough.