03/30/2012 12:35 pm ET Updated May 30, 2012

An Open Letter to John Quinones

Dear John Quinones:

While What Would You Do? can be somewhat entertaining, here's my big fear: I'm in a bank. Armed robbers storm in. They demand everyone drop to the floor. They say mean things to a fat hostage. They call the red-headed bank manager a 'ginger.' They refuse to steal money from a teller who they assume is gay. Then they make nasty racial slurs to another teller while sticking a gun to his head. There's a blind hostage and the gunmen pretend to rob him.

One of the gunmen remarks loudly that he is only here because his teenage daughter is in desperate need of Botox. That's when I hear the crying. I peer out the window and see that this teenager is tied to a parking meter -- a water bowl by her feet. An infant is stuck in the getaway car -- unattended -- and the windows are rolled up!

While the rest of the hostages -- the fat, the red headed, the blind -- are on the floor crying and shaking with fear, I drop to the floor but am totally relaxed. I know exactly what's going on. I can practically see you, John Quinones, watching the action play out on the monitors next door. You will walk in any minute and ask us all why we didn't do anything.

I don't want to be on television, my face blurred because I was a coward. I can't believe no one else knows what's going on. Don't they watch What Would You Do? Finally not having plans on a Friday night has some benefits. I will be the sole hero.

I slowly stand up. The red-haired hostage looks up at me like I am out of my mind. "You're going to get us all killed," she whispers. I wink back and give a big, reassuring smile.

"You have beautiful hair," I mouth.

Then I clear my throat, toss my hair, suck in my stomach and yell that they have no right to make fun of our weight, our hair color, our sexuality, our race. I tell them that the girl outside will grow up with self-esteem issues. I ask for the keys to their car so I can save the suffocating baby.

Even though they are wearing ski masks, I can practically see their shocked expressions. I know these guys are trained actors, but obviously they are in desperate need of some improv classes. They don't know how to react to me.

Sure, it's one thing to speak up in a bar when someone's sprinkling date rape drug in a stranger's cocktail. But an armed robbery? They thought we'd all be cowards. They look at each other. One of them -- the one with the daughter who needs Botox -- aims his gun at me. I smile. I watch the door for you, John Quinones. You'll walk in, give me a hug and praise me for my bravery. I will act shocked, I had no idea!

I think of what I will say to you. "It's just who I am. I can't just lie on the floor while people are being verbally abused. It's unacceptable. I'm just one of those people who sees an injustice and has to take action!"

I mentally make up the list of friends I will invite to my What Would You Do viewing party. Should I mention my television appearance on Facebook? Twitter? Or is that bragging? I wonder if my town will host a little parade for me. This is my time to be in the spotlight. I just wish I had worn some makeup.

John Quinones, you are taking a long time. I understand the need for that emotional wallop. But usually by now you are storming in with your camera crew. This is really cruel of you because while I am calm, the other hostages obviously watch too much CSI Miami not enough What Would You Do? They are sobbing uncontrollably. The red-haired hostage gives me the finger.

"Ginger idiot," I hiss.

Okay, John Quinones, it's time for your entrance. Where are you?

One of the gunmen pulls the trigger. Wow! They are really going for dramatic effect. I know it is a blank, so I am not nervous. Although this is taking it a little too far -- even for you. Yes, things can get ugly sometimes -- like when the bridezilla belittled the sales help and a bunch of customers turned on her. But you stepped in before punches flew. Why aren't you here now?


What? I know ratings are important, but this is ridiculous!

John Quinones, where are you? I was supposed to be a hero.

Now I'm just ... well, everything is blurry.

But John Quinones, don't worry about me. Take the teenager off the leash and break open the window for the baby.