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The Jeromeville location of Borders Books opened a few years ago, to much controversy. The anti-capitalist aging hippies who ran Jeromeville felt that a large corporate bookstore was inappropriate for their precious little university town. One of the members of the City Council was the owner of a local independent bookstore, yet he refused to acknowledge the obvious conflict of interest and cast his vote against the zoning plans that included Borders. Natural processes and the changing nature of the retail world led to Borders going out of business nationwide in 2011, but for now in the late ’90s, the developers had prevailed. Ever since it opened, Borders had become one of my favorite places to hang out and kill time.
I walked around looking for something to read for the next hour or so, just to get out of the house on this Saturday afternoon. I started with the Best Sellers section and grabbed a hardcover copy of Timeline by Michael Crichton. This book was brand new, and I knew little about it, but I had read and enjoyed a few of his other books. I first heard of Michael Crichton in high school, when his book Jurassic Park was made into a blockbuster movie. The description on the jacket of Timeline made it sound like the story involved time travel. This would be good.
Borders had comfortable chairs all over the store where people could sit and sample the books. Some may have disapproved of me reading books at the store with no intention of buying the book, but as long as I did not damage the book, the store seemed to allow it. I walked around looking for a chair that was not occupied. In the young adult fiction section, I passed a colorful cardboard display for a series of three books about a boy wizard named Harry Potter. I had heard that this series was getting popular with kids. Just past this, I found a place to sit and began reading Timeline. I read quickly, intrigued by the story of a mysterious man found in the middle of the desert, speaking in riddles, with odd anomalies in his body. I had been reading for about ten minutes when I heard an oddly familiar, but not immediately recognizable, voice say, “Greg?”
I looked up to see a brown-haired young woman about my age, with straight hair in a pony tail, and her face faintly pockmarked from the scars of past teenage acne. I recognized her immediately, even though I had not seen her since the day we all moved out of the freshman dorm. “Gina Stalteri,” I said. “You’re still in Jeromeville?”
“Yes! I’m in my second year of law school now.”
“Wow! That sounds intense. Good for you.”
“It is intense! What about you?” she asked. “You’re still in Jeromeville too, I see.”
“Yeah. I did the teacher certification program last year, and now I’m teaching math at Jorgensen High School, near Tyler Air Force Base. I stayed in Jeromeville because I still had friends here, so I’m commuting.”
“That’s great! I never knew you wanted to be a teacher!”
“Freshman year, I didn’t. I gave it a try on a recommendation from a professor, and I discovered I liked it.”
“That’s so cool!”
“And I’ve also been trying out for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Yeah. I’ve been watching that show, and people keep telling me I’d be good at it. So I figured, what the heck. May as well give it a shot.”
“How does it work?”
“You call, and using the phone buttons, you do three of the kind of questions from the show where you have to put things in order. They say they go in increasing order of difficulty, but the first one is always super easy, and the others just depend on what you know. If you get all three right, you choose a date for a taping, and you get put into a drawing. They randomly choose people for each date of taping and call them back to do a second round of questions.”
“That would be so cool, to see you on that show!” Gina exclaimed. “Keep trying!”
“I will! How’s law school treating you?”
“So much work. I’m so overwhelmed right now, I told myself I just had to take a break from studying this afternoon. But I’m not really on that much of a break, I’m here to look for a book that I need for one of my classes. What are you doing?”
“Just hanging out reading,” I explained, showing her Timeline.
“Sitting here reading a free book? Are you gonna buy it?”
“Probably not, but we’ll see.”
“Do you still hear from anyone we knew in Building C?”
“Yeah. Liz and Ramon finally got engaged. And so did Pete and Caroline.”
“Pete and Caroline? I never thought of them as ending up together.”
“Interesting. Let’s see, who else. Taylor Santiago graduated last year and moved back in with his parents in El Arcangel. Krista Curtis moved back down south, she’s getting married soon too, to someone she met down there. Her younger brother Darius moved to Jeromeville a couple years ago. Sarah Winters moved back to Ralstonville; she got married this last summer, but she had a really small wedding, so I wasn’t invited. What about you? Do you still talk to anyone from Building C?”
“You remember Dan Woodward?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s at U of the Bay, also in law school. He’s the only one I really talk to.”
“Nice. Tell him I said hi.”
“I will! I need to run, but it was really good seeing you!”
“You too!”
“Enjoy your free book!” Gina said, a little sarcastically, as she waved and walked away. That was a nice unexpected surprise, running into Gina. I stayed there for about another half hour, remembered the page of the book I was on, and put the book back on the shelf.
The next afternoon, after I got home from church, I made a sandwich and brought it to the bedroom with me. I had the room to myself this afternoon, since Jed was not home. He was probably with Candace. I was in the middle of a bite of my sandwich when the phone rang. “Hello?” I answered.
“Hi,” the unfamiliar voice on the other end said. “May I please speak with Greg Dennison?”
“This is Greg,” I replied.
“Hi, Greg. This is Tom, with contestant search for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. We’d like to set up the second round of your audition, and we also need to get some information about flying you to New York.”
A jolt of adrenaline shot through my body. Was this really happening? Apparently so. Who Wants To Be A Millionaire had run every night for two weeks as a special in August, and now it was back for another two-week special. Every night, host Regis Philbin reminded viewers that the show would be back in January as a regular series, and that would-be contestants could call and try out. When Jed and Brody saw me watching Millionaire at home last Monday night, they encouraged me to try out, reminding me that I was good at trivia. I did, on a whim, but I never expected that this would actually happen.
“Yes,” I replied, too excited to know exactly what to say.
“You’ll need to call us back and answer five more questions,” Tom explained. “Let’s see. you’re in Pacific Time, so you’ll call us back on Thursday, November 18, between 12 and 12:30. Write down that time, and this phone number I’m about to give you.” As I wrote the number Tom gave me, I realized that this would work out perfectly, because 12:00 on Thursday was during my lunch time at school. He continued to ask for information about me, such as my age, hometown, and the call letters of the television station on which I watched Millionaire. “If you do get on the show, we pay your airfare to New York and accommodations, but you are responsible for getting to the nearest airport,” Tom explained. “What is the nearest commercial airport to you?”
“Capital City International Airport.”
“Capital City,” Tom repeated as he typed my information into a computer. “Start thinking about who you want to use for your Phone-A-Friend lifeline. You’re allowed to give us five names and numbers. You watch the show, so I’m sure you know how it works: when you use your Phone-A-Friend, we call someone from your list, and you get to talk for thirty seconds.”
“Yes,” I said. As far as I knew, Phone-A-Friends could use anything they wanted to help the contestant, as long as it could be done in the thirty second time limit. I could ask one of my socially well-connected friends like Eddie Baker to get a bunch of people together at the time my show would be taping. Then I could call his house for my Phone-A-Friend, he could put me on speaker phone, and hopefully someone there would know the answer.
“The people who are trying out for this taping will all be calling back Thursday. We will randomly choose ten of you who got all five questions right to be on the show. If there are not ten of you who got all the questions right, then all the people who got five right will get on the show, and we will randomly start calling people who got the first four right, until we have ten contestants. So if you get the first four right, then you will give us a phone number where you can be reached at some point later that night, until, let’s see, six o’clock Pacific time.”
“I see.”
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“I think you answered everything.”
Tom gave me a phone number, not the same one I would be calling Thursday, in case I thought of any questions later, or if I needed to contact someone with the show for any reason. “Good luck on Thursday!”
“Thank you!” I said. Tom and I said goodbye, and I hung up the phone, still feeling dumbfounded that all of this had actually happened.
I asked Mike Novak if I could use room C-6 Thursday at lunch; he and I had the same lunch time, and I had no empty room of my own to use. I called the number Tom gave me and listened to a brief explanation of how to answer the questions. The prerecorded voice said that the questions would increase in difficulty.
“Place these following words in order to form the title of an Ernest Hemingway novel. 1: Sun. 2: Rises. 3: Also. 4: The.” I scribbled the words and numbers as the voice recited them, then pressed 4-1-3-2. Just like in the first round of tryouts, the first question was intentionally very easy. Although the directions had said that the questions would increase in difficulty, I expected that the challenge level would really depend on what they happened to ask compared to what I happened to know.
“Correct,” the voice continued. “Place the following historical events in chronological order, from oldest to most recent. 1: The US Civil War. 2: The fall of the Berlin Wall. 3: The assassination of Julius Caesar. 4: The reign of Henry VIII.” I pressed 3-4-1-2.
“Correct. Place the following countries in order of size, from largest to smallest. 1: Germany. 2: China. 3: Andorra. 4: Argentina.” I thought for a second, then pressed 2-4-1-3.
“Correct. Place the following elements in order of increasing atomic number. 1: Uranium. 2: Gold. 3: Carbon. 4: Helium.” I knew the periodic table well. I pressed 4-3-2-1.
“Correct. Place the following recording artists in order of date of birth, from oldest to most recent. 1: Frank Sinatra. 2: Busta Rhymes. 3: Willie Nelson. 4: Fiona Apple.” Great. I did not know this one. I knew Willie Nelson and Frank Sinatra were both older than Busta Rhymes and Fiona Apple, and I was pretty confident that Sinatra was the oldest. He passed away last year, but I did not remember exactly how old he was at his death. And I had no idea whether Fiona Apple was older or younger than Busta Rhymes; neither one was exactly my favorite to listen to. I pressed 1-3-4-2 and hoped for the best.
“Please enter a phone number where you can be reached today between the hours of 5:00 and 9:00 Eastern time, 2:00 and 6:00 Pacific time,” the prerecorded voice said. My heart sank when I did not hear the voice say “Correct.” Apparently Fiona Apple was younger than Busta Rhymes after all. I looked it up later, and she was; she was even younger than me, slightly, and Busta Rhymes was not. I had four right, so I would only get put in the drawing to be chosen for the show if there were not ten people who got all five questions right. I had a chance, but a much smaller chance. I entered the phone number of the school office, where everyone knew what was going on, and someone could come get me if necessary, if they called back while I was teaching.
It was not necessary. No one from the office came to get me, nor did they transfer any calls to my room. I had Kathy in the office show me how to answer the phone, so that I could stay in the office until six o’clock that night, after the office closed. I sat there staring at the phone for hours while I graded papers and worked on lesson plans, but no call came. I wondered if maybe the person from Millionaire called and got confused when the school phone connected and played a recording asking to whom the caller wished to speak. When I gave Millionaire my work phone number, there was no option for an extension. The phone only rang once that whole time that I was alone in the office, and it was not Millionaire; I had to tell someone that the office was closed. At 6:03, after still not having gotten called back, I locked the office and walked out to my car, my head slightly down with the shame of failure.
A week after my tryout for Millionaire, I was back home in Plumdale for Thanksgiving. For most of my childhood, we spent Thanksgiving with Dad’s relatives up north in Bidwell, but ever since Mark, my brother, started high school in 1996, he always had a basketball tournament on the weekend right after Thanksgiving, preventing a multi-day trip out of town. The last three Thanksgivings had been relatively quiet, just my immediate family and the grandparents on Mom’s side who lived nearby.
This Thanksgiving was a little different. Mom had told me a few days earlier that none of the Bidwell relatives had planned anything, so Grandpa Harold and Grandma Nancy, Dad’s father and stepmother, decided to come down from Bidwell and have Thanksgiving with us in Plumdale. By late morning, all four grandparents had arrived at the house, and Mom was getting things ready in the kitchen.
I was bored with everything else going on in the house, so I poked my head into the kitchen. Grandma Nancy was trying to get the kitchen counter cleared so she could make something, and Mom was looking annoyed, but when she saw me, her mood instantly changed. “Greg!” she said. “Tell Grandma Nancy about what happened last week.”
“What happened last week?” I asked, wondering where Mom was going with this.
“Your tryout for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.”
“I got the last question wrong,” I said. “I didn’t get on the show. There’s nothing else to say.”
“Still, though, you did great! You came really close!”
“How does it work, trying out for that show?” Grandma Nancy asked. I explained the process, answering questions about putting things in order, like contestants do on the show, and getting put into a drawing.
“What was the question you got wrong?” Mom asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“Oh, come on,” Mom said. Turning to Grandma Nancy, Mom continued, “It was kind of a hard question–”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“He had to put four famous people in order by when they were born–”
“Mom!” I exclaimed, raising my voice a little. “I said I don’t wanna talk about this!”
“Come here,” Mom motioned to Grandma Nancy. The two of them walked into the backyard, where I could hear Mom continuing to talk about my Millionaire audition. When they came back inside, Grandma Nancy asked me, “Are you going to keep trying to get on the show?” I ignored her, because I was halfway up the stairs to my bedroom by then.
I grabbed my dirty clothes off the floor and put them in a garbage bag. I got my toothbrush and other toiletries out of the bathroom and packed them. I quickly and angrily made sure I had not left anything behind in the bedroom, and I walked downstairs, carrying my suitcase. “What?” Mom asked when I walked past her.
“I’m going home. I don’t want to spend Thanksgiving with people who don’t respect me.”
“Oh, come on. You’re overreacting.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. I closed the door hard, almost slamming it, and took my stuff to the car. I sat in the driver’s seat, breathing, trying to calm down, but I did not start the car yet.
I saw Mom walk toward me about five minutes later. She motioned for me to open the door. I rolled down the window instead.
“I didn’t tell Grandma Nancy the question you got wrong,” Mom said. “I just told her it was two older people and two younger people, and you got two of them mixed up.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked indignantly. “I asked you not to talk about something, and you explicitly went behind my back!”
“Grandma Nancy doesn’t care that you got a question wrong.”
“I care! And I also care that I asked you not to do something, and you did it anyway.”
“Come back inside. I put some snacks out,” Mom said. I sat in the car and said nothing. I rolled up the window. Mom walked back to the porch and sat on the steps, then went back inside after about five minutes. And after another several minutes of deep breaths, I went back inside too, and put my suitcase back in the bedroom.
To this day, one of my greatest regrets was that I did not follow through on my threat to go home. I did not need people in my life who had no respect for my boundaries and my feelings. Had I walked out on Thanksgiving, that would have sent a message to Mom and the rest of the family that I was not going to tolerate not having my feelings taken seriously. Maybe Mom would learn that, just because she thinks something is not a big deal, that does not mean that it is not a big deal to the others involved. Of course, Mom was fifty years old, set in her ways, and people of that age do not often change unless they want to. But I would have felt better about myself had I at least stood up for myself.
I tried out for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire again off and on for a while after that time, but I never got called back again. A couple of the students who knew that I was trying out for Millionaire asked me if that was who was calling every time they heard the classroom phone ring that year. The Regis Philbin version of the show was canceled in 2002 and replaced with a daytime show hosted by Meredith Vieira. I stopped keeping up with the show shortly after that, and the new daytime version did not pay for contestants’ travel to New York, so I never bothered trying out.
About a decade after I stopped watching Millionaire, I started trying out for Jeopardy!. As of this writing, I have tried out five times, and three of those five times, they called me back to audition, but I have not yet been picked to go on the show. I took notes immediately after the fact on what I felt did not go well with my audition. I know I did not do well on the practice contestant interview, for example. If I ever get that far in the process again, I can take time to be more prepared. And hopefully I will remember, in case it comes up on a question, that Fiona Apple is younger than me.
Readers: Now only 8 episodes left! (This number is subject to change, because while I have a broad outline of the rest of the story, some of my ideas may get edited out, and I may find a need to add another episode or two.)
Tell me in the comments about a time someone did not respect your feelings. Did you do anything about it or just let it go?
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