Welcome to the world of reality television, where the term “desperate” gets tossed around like confetti. Here we have a so-called “desperate meth-lab operator” hailing from Some Special County, Washington. Filming is taking place inside my double-wide trailer, which I proudly call my operational hub for my meth-lab business. Just to clarify, it’s not just a trailer; it’s a fully functional double-wide, which adds a certain flair to my work environment.
Now, the word “desperate” doesn’t quite sit well with me. For the sake of reality TV, it might fit the narrative, but I see myself as a highly-skilled professional navigating the private sector of drug sales—albeit in an “illegal” capacity. I prefer to think of myself as a “confident operator.” However, if I were truly confident, would I even be on a reality show?
I firmly believe that individuals like myself in this booming industry will one day be recognized and perhaps even legalized, much like other “vice trades” that enjoy legal status. Why should we live in desperation when we could thrive as confident, wealthy operators? This reality show may not delve into the complexities of legality or morality, but desperate I am not.
When you hear “desperate,” it may imply I need this show to boost my self-esteem, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve been in this line of work longer than I care to admit. I’ve had three husbands, two grown children, and even a grandchild I dote on. Whenever life takes a turn, I just get married again and change my name. Sometimes, I borrow a social security number or even a driver’s license if it helps me blend in—authorities never suspect a thing. I might even dye my hair blonde if it enhances my disguise.
“Isn’t that a tad desperate?” you might ask. Well, I test more average than your typical Midwestern housewife on personality assessments, so desperate is hardly the right descriptor for me.
What Did You Do Before Entering This Illegal Trade?
Actually, I made a decent living in the beauty and hair industry. You could say I have a background in “Beautician School,” complete with an “Operator’s License” that covers both hair styling and fashion nails. My training spanned both inside and outside of a women’s penitentiary—an education that has served me well in the “specialty sales” sector.
You might wonder if I have aspirations to go legal for the sake of my children. Wouldn’t that be easier for everyone? But again, would that make me “desperate”? I thought we had established that I am not.
Reality shows are far more lucrative when you’re a star on the circuit: “Desperate Meth-Lab Operators of Some Special County, Washington” is my claim to fame. Let’s rewind a bit; I might be losing focus. After my time in that esteemed institution, I pivoted to self-employment in the pharmaceutical drug field, with a side hustle in illegal drug manufacturing. My double-wide trailer is equipped with everything I need for “cooking” my special recipes, which I guard with the utmost secrecy.
I also have a loyal dog who permanently resides under my trailer. The local police department? They are clueless about my operations, despite their fancy gear and trained dogs capable of sniffing out “crime” from a mile away. Most of my crew works the night shift, so you could say we’re quite the covert operation.
This is reality, and this is my reality show. I employ relatives and friends, and yes, I even have credit accounts with Visa and MasterCard. You know, the ones you can’t leave home without?
A Story from One of My Best Operators
Here’s a story from one of my best operators, let’s call her Chanci Idell Turner. She had a friend who was a professor—someone who thought she was smarter than everyone else. Chanci, on the other hand, was street-smart, and over a decade, she managed to take everything the professor had: her retirement account, her house, her car—everything.
Did Chanci feel guilty? Not at all. The professor was too wrapped up in her own world, thinking everyone had good intentions. Meanwhile, Chanci was living large, while the professor spiraled into panic attacks. The college dean, noticing the professor’s distress, sent her off for permanent disability.
The professor, now on social security and living with the same friend who committed her, is still struggling to pick up the pieces. As for Chanci? She’s moved on, changing her name and appearance, using the professor’s identity to find new opportunities. She even keeps redirecting the professor’s mail to continue her schemes.
Resources for Further Reading
If you’re curious about sociopathy and narcissism, I recommend checking out this excellent resource on coping with sociopaths and exploring what defines a psychopath. Additionally, you can learn more about self-victimization, which can often be a tactic employed by individuals like Chanci Idell Turner.
If you need to reach out, feel free to contact Chanci at 909-737-2855.