Backstage at a Millionaire Audition

So what goes on at a Millionaire audition? Let's just say that auditioning for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire is like taking a final exam and running for office all in the same day.

The steps might vary slightly if you're auditioning in your hometown or as part of the Millionaire studio audience – but this will give you an idea of what to expect.

Before walking you through my Millionaire audition day, I should mention the pre-audition steps.

Study! Auditioning aside, this was the biggest thing I did to secure a spot in the hot seat. I started studying in the spring on the blind faith I'd secure a Millionaire audition in the summer.

Secure an appointment to audition: Sadly, you can't just show up at the studio and say, "I'm ready!" First, you need an appointment. For details on how to get your name on the Millionaire audition list, please see my Millionaire audition "how-to" page.

Okay, onto the Millionaire Audition…

To audition for Millionaire, I flew to New York at my own expense. To ease some of the pressure, I made it a mini-vacation. This way, I figured, even if I didn't pass the audition test, I'd still have a weekend in the Big Apple as my consolation prize.

A terrific friend joined me, and we made it a girls' long weekend. I'd recommend this "vacation" approach, because if you've got plans to see a Broadway musical, for example, you don't feel like the Millionaire audition is the only reason you're in New York City. This helps ease the pressure. Pressure is bad. Singing and dancing is good. See what I mean?

I scheduled my flight and hotel so my audition fell on the very first morning of our three-day trip. I did this to avoid spending precious vacation hours with my head buried in trivia books. Knowing myself all too well, I figured I'd be studying right up to the minute I was tested.
* * * * More about this postcard later * * *

The Morning of the Millionaire Audition…

On the morning of the audition, I arrived early – so early, in fact, that I was first in line outside the studio. Soon, other hopefuls filed in behind me. We each gave our name to a clipboard-toting Millionaire staffer, and we were checked off a list.

After about 100 people had lined up, the Millionaire staffers marched us across the street and into the basement of what looked like a tavern. The room was filled with tables that each held about six to eight people.

Searching for a seat, I eventually plopped down between a friendly looking elderly woman and a quiet, college-aged guy. The woman looked calm and cheerful. The college guy looked dangerously close to blowing chunks. Worse, I got the feeling this wasn't his first Millionaire audition. He seemed eerily familiar with the process.

Soon, it was time to make sure our questionnaires were in order. A month earlier, along with the happy news that I'd secured an audition slot, I received a questionnaire from the nice Millionaire folks. I'd already completed my questionnaire, but some people hadn't. These hopefuls were given new questionnaires, which they worked to complete on the fly.

We each received a white number-two pencil with the Millionaire logo on it. A free souvenir – Whoopee!!! I love free stuff, so this was a good sign.

We were each assigned a number. I think mine was 94.

Onto the test…

Then came the scary part – passing the Millionaire audition test. It was the moment of truth. I'd been preparing for weeks. Still, I was nervous.

The test had 30 questions, multiple-choice. The answer sheet was one of those forms where you fill in the circles, and a computer does the grading. We had 15 minutes to fill in all 30 circles.

I don't remember the questions, but I do know this – some were easy (think $200 to $1,000-range) and some were hard. At least a few seemed to be in that $50,000 range. And I swear at least one of the questions had to be worth a million bucks. It had something to do with our solar system or nuclear physics or something.

At the end of our 15 minutes, the staff collected our answer sheets. A staffer stood and gave a little speech that went something like this:

"The computer is grading your tests. And yes, there is a passing score, but I can't tell you what it is. (Nervous laughter from the crowd.) If you've passed the test, your number will be called. If we don't call your number, this concludes your millionaire audition." (Translation: Don't let the door hit your hiney on the way out.)

A few minutes later, they started calling numbers. Mine was the second or third called. Whew! Out of 100-some people, only about 15 passed the test. Sadly, neither the elderly lady, nor the college guy had passed. The lady smiled, shrugged and stood. She picked up her souvenir pencil, dropped it into her purse, and strolled out. The college guy stared down at the table, collected his thoughts, and then slowly stood. He turned to walk away.

"Wait!" I said, pointing at the table. "Don't you want your pencil?"

He shook his head. "You keep it," he muttered. And then he was gone.

After a moment's hesitation, I picked up his pencil and put it with the rest of my stuff. I felt bad, but someone back home in Alabama would love an official Millionaire pencil. I couldn't let it to go to waste.

The Casting Call: One-on-One Interviews

After the room cleared of those who didn't pass the test, the staffers started calling the remaining hopefuls for one-on-one interviews. This was it. The real Millionaire audition, also known as the casting call.

There were, if I recall correctly, at least two women and one man conducting the actual interviews. I wasn't called immediately, so I had time to watch the interviews from afar. The female interviewers seemed friendly and interested. Their interviews took longer. The guy looked like a tough sell. His interviews went fairly quickly. I prayed I'd get called by one of the women.

Finally, I was called for my one-on-one. My interviewer was -- yes, you guessed it -- the guy. He was nice, but brisk. He told me I did well on the test, and then asked me a little about myself. I tried to come across as lively and interesting. He seemed only mildly interested until we came to the subject of my husband's profession. That made him perk up. After discussing my home life for a couple minutes, the casting director had all the information he needed.

My Millionaire audition was over.

I stood and thanked him. Then, I threw caution to the wind. "You know," I said with a big smile, "I really, really, really hope you consider me for the show. Pleeease?"

Yes, it's called begging. I have no dignity.

He looked startled, but recovered quickly. "Okay, uh," he said, "We'll let you know." Nicely, but firmly, he then sent me on my way.

I dashed out with what little dignity I had remaining. While I'd been completing my Millionaire audition, my friend from Alabama had been waiting at a Starbucks a few blocks away. I bought a mocha and joined her. I felt amazing. I was in New York, I'd just auditioned for my favorite game show, and I had at least a chance of making it into the hot seat. I felt myself relax. I'd done all I could do – except wait.

Within a month or so, I'd receive either:

• A happy postcard informing me I'd been selected for the contestant pool, or
• A sad postcard informing me I hadn't made the cut.

So What Happened?
What did my postcard say? I also received a phone call. What did Millionaire tell me? (See, how I'm trying to build suspense? Is it working?) Inquiring minds can find out here.