Thursday, Jul 24, 2008
In which our hero braves technical difficulties, arctic temperatures and too many geography questions in his quest for a fast fortune.
Nov 16, 1999 | Put these types of headaches in order from least severe to most severe: a) migraine; b) sinus; c) cluster; d) tension. No matter how you rank them, I have them all after being a contestant on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire."
Friday, Nov. 12, 11 a.m.
Everyone gathers in a room in the Empire Hotel. The lovely and mercurial Susan, contestant greeter, informs us that we will be taking a van four blocks to the studio. We are 10 contestants, two alternates and sundry "companions." The van ride provides some insight into how numerous clowns fit into a Volkswagen.
We arrive at the studio and are escorted through tunnels, steps and several security points en route to "the green room." We are warned along the way not to speak to any ABC employees other than those displaying official "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" tags. We are then sequestered in a room where J.P., a guy with a headset, welcomes us to a nice spread of donuts, coffee and bagels. A woman named T. tells us that we will be meeting our assigned producer shortly for an interview. Even their names are expedient.
My mother, whom I've chosen as my companion, is having a bad morning. She is coughing and feeling dizzy. I have obtained permission for my sister to be my companion's companion. Thank God for guilt-ridden children.
I meet my producer, Lisa, while my mother and sister put a schmear on some bagels. I tell Lisa my life story in 10 minutes. My mother is treated to the life stories of the contestants to her right and left as they are drilled by their producers. I take a moment to suss out the competition.
The first guy I meet is Mike. He is the holdover from the night before. He had reached the $8,000 level when time ran out. He holds his wife's hand as he tells me that he has only one "lifeline" left and is not very good in science and pop culture. (Lifelines are phone calls which you're allowed to make to friends to get their help in answering Regis' questions.) Mike wants a sports question. He is a bit edgy. It is only noon and we still have six hours to go before taping.
Next I meet Andy, who was a "Fast Fingers" contestant in August. ("Fast Fingers" is the game that gets you to the hot spot chair.) Wow! You get a second chance! He points out Bruce, who was also a "Fast Fingers" contestant in August. Back then, ABC hadn't finalized the rules yet because they didn't know whether the show would continue. Officially, contestants are now allowed to be in the top 10 twice in two years. These two guys, because of their appearance on the show before the rules were written in stone, get three tries. Then there's Rick, who resembles Edward Norton and is a former "Jeopardy!" champion. My mother is impressed. She watches "Jeopardy!" religiously.
My life story is abruptly cut short when J.P. and T. inform us that we are going to watch an episode of the show to give us an idea of how what a "good " contestant is like. They tell us to remember that "We are the show!" Watching video takes another half-hour.
As the tape ends our small army of producers return to the room. We are given our "Fast Fingers" seat numbers. I am number 10. We are to line up in order in single file and remain in formation for the rest of the day. The two alternates are side by side behind me. I jokingly tell them not to push me down the stairs (I have seen "All About Eve.") Celeste, who has come from a town of 200 in Utah where it took five hours just to drive to the nearest airport tells me not to worry. I wonder if she has what it takes to win.
We are warned that it is very cold in the studio to keep all the lights and computer equipment from overheating. Everyone is joking, "Who wants to be in a Frigidaire!" We take our assigned "Fast Finger" seats and our companions take their seats in the audience. They weren't kidding about it being cold. I am wearing a sweater but start to tremble. All I can think about is my mother getting pneumonia from me wanting to be a millionaire. It doesn't seem right, somehow.
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