Kristen calls me and asks if I’d like to try out for a TV game show. No idea what the game is or what’s expected, but my daughter and I figure there is no bad publicity. Why not go on television if we can? Then, of course, there’s the possibility of a $10,000 prize…
We wear a sign saying "Team Daught.mom". It's Kristen's idea and it's brilliant. Vince adds the "dot" because it reminds him of a url. The assistants love the sign. No one else has one.
We arrive a tad late and I am pressured to fill out the form. They ask what I fear and I say spiders, hoping it’s not a “face your worse fear” game. The form also wants me to list what “party tricks” I can do, what my strengths are, and my weaknesses. I can only think of writing and singing for the party tricks, do okay with the strengths, and fall apart on the weaknesses. I don’t want to tell the truth – like “I suck at trivia” – just in case it’s a jeopardy game. So I say my weaknesses are red wine and Brad Pitt.
This starts the conversation about the time I ran after Brad at The Toronto International Film Festival. The girls beside us want to know, but we’re called to attention.
They hand out a one-pager of multiple-choice questions, trivia they call it. Reads more like general knowledge to me. I guess at most of the answers, only really know one or two for certain. I hope this won’t be a make-or-break toward that ten thousand dollar prize.
Next we’re called into the audition room. They tell us we’re going to participate in a couple of fun games. We line up across from our partners in two lines, then face the front. The young good-looking assistant gives each team a tennis ball. The instructions are to pass it to one another without the use of our hands. He reminds us that this is where they want to see us shine. “Show us your big personalities,” he says. So we do.
The ball starts off being passed chin to chin. Lucky for me I am beside a tall good-looking young guy, whose beard tickles my neck. I take a little longer than necessary to pass the ball. We laugh and encourage each other with shouts and high-fives. The next game is called suck and blow. I kid you not.
This elicits a lot of guffaws. But we listen politely to the instructions on how do it. You suck on the paper to hold it in your mouth, then blow out to attach it to the next mouth. What if you’d admitted your worst fear was germs?
The last thing we have to do is walk a carpet as though it’s a catwalk. We call out and clap for the others as they dance, wiggle, or even cartwheel down the room. When it’s Kristen’s turn, she gives them the D-Cup shimmy and I figure it’s pretty much sewn up for us. So I seal the deal with a song and dance and a show of ass as I sing, “I like big butts”. They seem to like them, too.
We’re sent to the waiting room to see who will be picked. Kristen and I are among the six selected to go to the next stage: an interview with the…I dunno, directors, producers, writers? Anyhow, they ask us questions about our backgrounds and what we do for a living. I’m a bit nervous but manage to tell them some coherent things. Then sadly, we are asked to demonstrate our “party tricks”. Kristen does really well – she sells one of the interview team his own pen. I could write something, I say, I mean I’m a writer, but I guess that’s no good for television…after that, I have no choice but to sing.
“Blue moon, you saw me standing alone…”
Don’t call us, we’ll call you, they say as we leave.