I, for One, Would Like to be a Millionaire

So I went to the auditions for "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" yesterday in Ft. Worth at the Bass Performance Hall. Allow me to express first my firm belief that the Bass Performance Hall would be SOOOOOO much prettier if it hadn't been decorated by a French aristocrat during the reign of Louis XVI. Snarkiness aside, I proceed:

The auditions began at 9:00am, so that's when I arrived. I knew there would be a line, but I had no idea that the line would wrap around the block. In fact, it wound around the entire block, turned back on itself, went back down the block, crossed the street, went down the next block, and turned the corner again. Fortunately, I got there when it was on the fourth side of the building.

Met a lady named Dina who stood next to me in line with another, much weirder lady named Mary. Somewhere around 11:00, with the temperature rapidly nearing 100 degrees, we turned the corner onto the shadeless side. It only occured to me when we were already halfway down the block to go get my golf umbrella out of my car. That made things much more bearable, and also attracted the attention of the local press.

The above picture is from today's issue of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, second section or whatever the "local" section is. I haven't actually gone to the store to get a physical paper yet, but the story can be found here:
http://www.dfw.com/mld/dfw/entertainment/special_packages/encore/15028304.htm

They were giving the test for the movie version of the show and for the regular version of the show. I took both tests, but the chick flick questions killed me. For example, Scarlett O'Hara's real name was Katie. I got that one right, apparently, on a wild-assed guess. I missed the question about from what musical did Harry and Sally sing a duet (it's Oklahoma!). There were some others that I blew as well, so I did not pass the movie test.

An aside: as we waited for the assistants (flunkies) to collect the tests and answer sheets for the movie version, a gentleman very fervently demanded an answer to a burning question. I thought he wanted one of the answers, so I turned and looked. He said something about following the producer's directions to the letter, and so when he removed the test questions from the envelope, he started with the questions on the top page. He started with number 16. On a scantron answer sheet. There was an awkward pause, then the producer asked, "Did you put number 16 on answer bubble 16?" Apparently not. The room started buzzing at that point, people all around us (the guy was only one row back and maybe six people over from me) started making jokes, and Dina next to me said, "If you can't figure out how to answer the questions in order, you probably shouldn't be on the show." I suggested that maybe we shouldn't say things like that so loud since grown men that look like him often have access to firearms if they aren't actually carrying one on their persons. He didn't stay for the second test.

A further digression: So I'm torn. The guy stood in line for hours for his one shot at a million bucks, and he made an earnest if simple-minded mistake. Poor guy, my heart goes out to him. On the other hand, what a dumbfuck.

Anyway, I waited with bated breath for them to call out the numbers for people who passed the regular test. I felt pretty good about that one, even if I didn't know that coulrophobia is the fear of clowns. I turned to Dina and said, "You know, I've been pretty smug all along. I don't know how I'm going to handle it if I don't pass this thing." We were all confident but nervous. Dina was 81, I was 82, and Mary was 83. The producer had only called something like 5 for 6 passers for the movie test. Number-sixteen-guy was evidently par for our group. He called number 83 next to last, and he only called about 15 out of 200 in our group.

The assistants ushered us upstairs in a restricted elevator to the green room for the Hall. This is where we had our polaroid photos taken, and were interviewed briefly by other producers of the show. The guy spoke to some of the people for a few minutes, and for others for what seemed like seconds. Finally, he called my name and asked me the dreaded, "Why did you go into teaching" question. (I hate that question; my answer is not a simple one, and I have yet to encapsulate it for just such an occasion.) We spoke for a moment or so. I'll find out within the next two weeks or so by postcard if I made it into the contestant pool or not.

And thus my saga is complete.