I want to be a millionaire!

In which our hero aces the telephone test, hears an actual voice recording of Regis, qualifies as a contestant and prepares to make his fortune.

Nov 12, 1999 | Who wants to be a millionaire. They don't even have the decency to put a question mark at the end of the sentence. But then, it's not really a question, is it? So ... sign me up!

I tried to get on the show in August, when it first aired. To become a contestant you had to call a 900 number and demonstrate your ordering prowess by correctly putting a few writers in order of birth, a few musicals in order of when they opened and a few rulers in order of when they ruled. The questions become more difficult as you progress, and my own difficulty factor was increased by the whimsical configuration of my push-button phone -- which is cunningly designed to resemble a rotary model. If, as you are attempting to qualify, you press a number other than 1 through 4 you are disqualified from the semifinals.

Back in August, it cost $1.50 per call to try out -- with a two-call-per-day maximum. Due to technical difficulties (see phone configuration), the best I could do was answer the three questions correctly, but not at the breakneck speed required to progress to the semifinal round. At the end of two weeks I was out about $21 for my efforts. The only ones getting rich were the 900-number people.

So now, smack in the middle of November sweeps, the highest rated show in recent television history is back. They have discontinued the $1.50 per call fee and enacted a fail-safe method to prevent overloading the system. This time I was determined. Who wants to be a millionaire? Me! Ooh! Me!

On my first day of calling I accidentally pressed 5 instead of 4. How cute is my phone now? On the second day of calling I made it through. The taped voice of Regis Philbin congratulated me on my correct answers, but warned that next time, I would have to order like the wind to advance to the semifinals. I also had to be near a phone from noon to 3 p.m. the following day to receive information about the next round. If they called and I was not home -- so long, Regis! There'd be no champagne wishes and caviar dreams for me.

At 12:03 the phone rang. A woman at the other end of the phone said she represented the "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" show. In exchange for my date of birth and the last four digits of my Social Security number, she would give me some important information: I had advanced to the final round. I was given a special phone number and a pin number and was told to call between 5 and 6 the next day to put more things in order.

The whole next day I spent in strategy. I borrowed a friend's speaker phone and hunkered down. At 5:07, I called in and answered the five questions. The voice of Regis came back to tell me that someone would call me between 6 and 10 that evening, if I had A) answered the questions correctly, and B) been among the 10 speediest respondents. The Regis voice reminded me that if I missed the call, I was SOL. These people were ruthless.

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