My Audition for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire (Part 2)Posted: July 20, 2011
When we last left me, I was near the end of a long line waiting to go in to audition for the game show, Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. To pass what I thought was going to be a long wait, I began finding reasons to eliminate other people who were in line with me. And then, the line started to move.
I was certain that this would be a long process, given how far back in line I was. I was wrong. Fortunately, guessing how long the audition process takes is not actually part of the audition, so I was still in the running.
The entire line moved into a building where we formed six or eight smaller lines. We all got Who Wants To Be A Millionaire pencils and t-shirts. Then we moved into a room with enough chairs and tables to seat all of us. As we were filing in, “Mr. I’m Going To Put My High Priced Education To Work” decided to make his move.
It Doesn’t Go Well For Mr. Education
Most of the people in line were already in the room and were seated at long tables as those of us at the end walked in. A woman involved in the production of the show was speaking to those already seated. Mr. High Priced Education did not see her banter as an obstacle. He decided he needed attention. He got to the middle of the room and seized it.
In front of five hundred people, the educated one thrust his arms in the air and yelled at the top of his lungs “wooooo, I’m the next winner!” His declaration was met with silence from the crowd. The woman running the event didn’t miss a beat. She went right on with her talk and ignored him. I don’t think it was the reaction he was going for.
Once all were seated, everyone was given a test in an envelope with instructions that the envelope wasn’t to be opened until the test started.
The test was multiple choice and was pretty strictly timed. There were thirty questions on the test, covering a broad spectrum of topics in ten minutes.
At the five-minute mark I was on question twelve. I realized that I needed to take a much less leisurely pace. I zipped through the remaining questions in enough time to review my work. There was one question I am certain I had no idea the answer of, even after further review. An audible groan went up from the crowd when time was called. I heard people saying they didn’t finish. Others were complaining about the questions.
Everyone waited. The woman who was addressing the crowd took to the microphone again while the tests were being scored. She fielded questions from the room until someone brought her the test numbers of those who passed.
Thanks For Coming, Please Exit by The Door To My Left
People got up and headed for the door after those who passed were announced. Neck tattoo, gone. Mr. High Priced Education, gone. Waited overnight people, gone. Capri Pants Guy, gone. Eighty to ninety percent of the room, gone.
Blue camouflage bandanna guy, not gone. Perhaps I misjudged him
Omawarisan, not gone.
Hopefully Charm Is Enough
The survivors of the test moved to the back of the room. We wrote our name, the date and where we were from on the back of our application forms and waited to be called up to meet with a member of the show’s staff. People were called by their test number and had about five minutes to chat with a show representative.
I felt good about this portion of the audition. I had things on my application that I thought would be good between question banter topics. When my turn finally came, I talked about those topics with enthusiasm. We talked about juggling. I described what it was like scuba diving to feed sharks. I chatted happily about my job and my particular specialty. I had five minutes. I sold me. I sold me hard.
In the end, I left after being told I’d be notified by mail if I made the contestant pool. Everyone I saw left the same way that I did. I feel good though. I think I’m going to make it.
If I don’t make it; if “we’ll notify you by mail” is an easy way to say “don’t call us, we’ll call you”, I can handle it. I’ll handle it well, unless I see blue camouflage bandana man on TV, winning the money that should be mine.