That Time I Tried Out For Reality TV

If you know me, you’re well aware of how badly I want to be on reality television. I’m not exactly sure why I think I’m a good candidate to embarrass myself in front of millions, but I’ve always had this feeling that I deserved to be famous without doing anything. This past weekend I attended a casting call in Boston for one of the longest running reality shows in TV , which I will not name for fear of being sued (it rhymes with Schmeal Burld), to fulfill those dreams. I signed some sort of waiver at the call, but I was drunk, so I’ll just pretend that it’s okay for me to divulge what little information I have about the casting process. It’s also important to note that I did NOT get a callback. I guess I’m just too “real” for reality tv.

I started off the morning the same way anyone auditioning for a reality show would; I got drunk in the shower. I poured myself a glass of champagne and consumed it rapidly as I lathered my naked body. I hoped that it would provide me with the liquid courage needed to stand out at the call and make it so that I’d be painfully honest. It ended up making me mostly bloated.

My good friend Anna came with me to the casting call for moral support. The whole shindig was held at a bar called Rock Bottom, which is ironic because everyone at the call looked like they had already hit it. Out of the fifty people in line I was the only one who looked like he was actually born in the ’90s; I’m curious as to what the mystery ingredient in the Boston water supply is that makes 22 year olds look like they’re 40.  Most of the men in line looked like they had been raised in a dumpster outside of a Lacoste, and the women looked like they were made out of leather. There weren’t many pretty people in line, which made me feel better about my chances of getting on.

I was brought in and given an application to fill out prior to being interviewed. The application asked questions about our most embarrassing moments, dreams, and how much we hated our parents. I can honestly say that I don’t remember what I wrote. I guess I was drunker than I thought.

I finished the application and was brought to a table with 8 other people. The casting girl was the most basic white girl I’ve ever seen. She also looked like she was being held there against her will, and made her discontent known to all of the interviewees.

She asked us all the same questions: age, hometown, sexuality, and a fun fact. Most of the people were wildly uninteresting, and the only ones the girl took interest in were the ones who lived more “scandalous” lives. She was particularly interested in the girl who was a bisexual and in an open relationship, despite the fact that the most interesting thing about her was that she had “vacationed in Ireland.” I felt uncomfortable as I watched the interviewer rip into people and quickly dismiss them when they didn’t have something juicy to immediately spill. She seemed hopeful when one guy said that he had been a “dancer” in high school, but became annoyed when she found out he didn’t mean stripper. She wanted nothing to do with us if we didn’t fit the mold of trashy TV. But you can’t blame her, you need to have a certain level of moral ambiguity to get on television.

When she got to me I tried to make subtle jokes, but they were about as well received as Donald Trump’s recent tirades. I told her I could fit a debit card through my teeth, which thoroughly disgusted her. She also could not fathom that I wouldn’t directly state that I was “gay”. I refused to simplify my feelings and I think I short circuited her brain in the process. My biggest mistake was that I was too honest in the process. Perhaps if I had said I was a gay nymphomaniac with a coke addiction that things would have worked out.

The whole group interview lasted about 10 minutes. We were told that we’d be called later that evening if they wanted us to come in and again, and I knew that the odds were not in my favor. I’m an entertaining person, but I don’t drink enough or threaten women enough to actually get on a reality TV show like the Real World. I’m not bummed that I didn’t get on; in fact, I’m proud that I just went to the call. I’ve always talked myself out of doing new or uncomfortable things, but I am doing my best to take advantage of whatever stupid opportunity comes my way. At the end of the day, it was a good experience. And at the very least- it prepared me for my Big Brother audition.

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