"So were you, or were you not, at the park?" comedic hypnotist Flip Orley asks me.
"I'm Pluto," I respond. "Not only did they take away my planet, but a guy asked if he could neuter me."
ASU alumnus Orley returned to his hometown on Thursday to perform six shows at the Tempe Improv.
When given the chance to get hypnotized by him, of course I jumped at the offer.
Fellow SPM writer Christina Caldwell agreed to accompany me to the Improv to face hypnosis. Orley says that generally half of the volunteers get hypnotized. We hoped at least one of us would be susceptible.
After a 30-minute stand-up act, Orley asks volunteers to come to the stage.
Christina and I take seats front and center with about 12 other eager participants.
Orley then begins the "hypnotic induction," easing us into extreme relaxation. After only receiving four and a half hours of sleep the night before, it is easy for me to follow his countdown instructions.
"Five. Four, your eyes are getting heavy and very comfortable. Three, continuing to relax. Two, relieving any tension, any pressure in your body. And finally, one," Orley says, causing our eyes to drift shut.
He tells us to keep an open mind and, above all, "Do not try to get hypnotized."
About 10 minutes have passed since the induction, and I feel completely at ease. Even with the glaring spotlights in my eyes, I am nearing sleep. My limbs are tingly and twitching and I have no thoughts in my mind — thank God! SPM deadlines were killing me.
Orley asks those who do not feel hypnosis's effects to leave the stage. It takes me quite some time to realize fellow daredevil Christina isn't sitting to my left anymore. About two-thirds of the group remains seated.
Forty minutes in, Orley convinces half of the group that a hand is reaching out of the seats of our chairs. I immediately feel like I'm being anally probed and leap onto the floor. Orley walks over to me to investigate.
At the beginning of the show, Orley had told the participants to use the restroom if necessary because the hypnosis could last up to 90 minutes. I needed to relieve myself, but was embarrassed to leave the stage and thought I could hold it. Now, I feel differently.
"I have to pee," I say, obviously distraught. "I'm going to pee my pants." I resemble a just-trained toddler.
"Well, you know what? We can work that out," Orley says. "Here's what I want you to do. In a moment I'm going to ask you to leave the stage for the restroom."
I bolt. In the dark, I run through the hundreds of people at the Improv. I fly through the doors and am directed to the bathroom by employees listening to the show through the PA system. Finally, thankfully, I am in the stall. But I just can't do it. I can't pee. What a letdown. Instead, my wobbly legs make me fall over into the stall.
Defeated, I return to the stage.
Orley continues to amaze the audience and lightheartedly embarrass the hypnotees. Convincing us that he is stark naked and endowed with a three-foot you-know-what, he talks to the crowd while doing passionate squats in front of my face. My eyes and jaw are aching from laughter.
In the next instant, we believe the whole audience has disappeared. After a few minutes Orley brings them back with a huge cloud of smoke.
My heart is pounding crazily, and my breathing is labored. I panic, and he asks me, "Are you OK?"
"I have asthma."
He consoles me and ensures that employees will suck the smoke out of the room to relieve me of my near hyperventilation.
Orley eventually brings the group back to normality. He claims that after hypnosis, one feels as if they just had eight hours of "deep and very rested sleep." All is remembered, albeit somewhat shamefully.
I am wide-awake. And thankfully, I am Celeste ... not a pissed-off Pluto.
