How to Fail in a Reality TV Audition

How I managed to get an audition for ‘Blind Date’ … and then blow it.

We’re not talking ‘recent’ here.

This was way, way back in 1990. I think it’s taken me this long to come to terms with it. I’m genuinely embarrassed about it and write this self deprecating story as an attempt at a sort of penance and cathartic cleansing.

In those days, a notice was posted in a local newspaper inviting people to apply to TV programs, either by turning up at a specific location where there was an initial cull, or by writing in with your shamelessly self promoting CV.

For me, it took place in Birmingham, the UK’s second largest city. I was at Aston University when the circus came to town. And I wanted in.

It didn’t matter that I wasn’t a particularly big fan of the show, and it also appeared not to matter (to me) that I technically wasn't single at the time — I’d just make sure that didn’t come up in conversation. It was TV. I was 21. I fancied myself as a bit of charmer, there was no chance I wasn’t going to be picked. This was going to be such a laugh.

Oh, the folly of youth.

I’d received my invite and the day came. I went with my friend Alison to the chosen location, a posh hotel in the town centre, although I forget which now.

Man, I was buzzing. It was one of those days where it had all come together. I felt great, had actually made an effort to dress well and I wasn’t even having a bad hair day. And, like most people in their early twenties, I looked great. Funny how you never really appreciate that until later isn’t it?

Alison and I had a great, (mostly) plutonic relationship and mostly we bounced our slightly off the wall humour off each other and got drunk with her mates and mine. Boyfriends and girlfriends came and went and we still seemed to hang around in the same way we always did. On this particular day, she was egging me on and laughing at the possible outcomes.

By the time we arrived, I was brimming with confidence and in a crazy, confident mood. We were ushered into a waiting room type environment very reminiscent of a doctor’s surgery with about the same atmosphere and as much background buzz as a packed lift. Oh dear, this wouldn’t do.

This wouldn’t do at all.

For reasons that entirely escape me now — possibly because I cringe at the very thought of this unfolding — I decided it was my moral duty to entertain everyone and introduce myself. After all, I was HILARIOUS, right?

Well, actually, my recollection is that I pretty much was. As badly as this could have gone (and you probably feared as you read those words) I had the sheer youthful energy, confidence and, above all, naivety to carry it off.

For a moment, I was that guy who everyone wishes they could be … or would be annoyed by. I was feeding off the crowd of ‘my audience’. People were laughing, either with me or AT me, but as far as I was concerned, both possibilities were fine. Barriers started to break down, people started to chat with each other and there was a new buzz in the room. In retrospect I have to admit they may all have been asking each other who this annoying guy was and whether he was supposed to be part of the show.

Over all the noise that was now coming from the crowd, a phone that was attached to the wall near the door started ringing. It rang enough times that it got everyone’s attention, but no-one seemed to be making a move towards it. I think we’d all assumed that a producer or program junior would appear from somewhere and pick it up.

After a few more rings, I suddenly decided it was for me and announced in a loud voice:

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it!”

I confidently walked to the phone, yanked it off the receiver with a great flourish and answered, nay, shouted:

“Cheung’s Chip Shop, wah you wan?”

Now we’re getting into dangerous territory. Apart from the fact that I had no place to answer it, I had also chosen to use an overly exaggerated Chinese accent (can you imagine the fall out in today’s more ‘politically correct’ times?) for full comedic effect. I’d even used my local chip shop owner’s standard response that he always gave when I called him.

Which was often.

In my mind, I was congratulating myself on how brilliantly funny I was. The gig was definitely mine.

The slightly confused female voice at the other end asked to speak to someone, presumably someone involved with the program. I explained, in my best Chinese accent, that they weren’t there and perhaps they should call back ‘rater’ before adding ‘Byeeeee!’ and putting the phone down.

The room didn’t seem to find this quite as funny for some reason. Alison thought it was hilarious though, so for me it was still a win, but for the first time I realised I may have gone too far. I later found out that this phone call was deliberately planted to see if anyone would react to it and, although I had ‘played up to the cameras’ in the exact way they wanted people to, it had actually had an adverse effect on my confidence. The doubts crept in a little. Is it possible I wasn’t as funny as I thought I was?

My inner confidence didn’t agree of course, but for the first time I decided that perhaps I’d better sit down — something I hadn’t yet done — and, well, shut up. Fortunately, at that moment a side door I hadn’t previously noticed, abruptly opened and a stern looking lady called out my name. It was ON.

Alison mouthed a reassuring ‘Go for it!’ as I stood up again and marched with extreme confidence into the next room.

As immediately as I had done so, I realised I was in a completely different environment. It was long, thin room, well lit, and next to a large window sat a woman, probably in her early thirties, behind a large desk scattered with paperwork.

It seemed to take a long time to get to the seat that she indicated was for me and as I lowered my body into it, I recognized my application form in front of her.

Suddenly I felt different. There was no crowd, no noise and I had flash backs to the few job interviews I’d had which, frankly, had not gone well. I started to sweat.

There was a bit of small talk that I mumbled my way through, so much so, that she had to ask me to speak up more than once. Then, taking control, she said:

“Right then, well, let’s play the game a bit shall we?”

Play the game? What did she mean play the game? I realised that she meant the game on the show. I hadn’t thought for a second that this would be part of the audition. I had prepared …. nothing.

“So, let’s imagine you’re behind the barrier and Cilla has prompted you to ask your first question. What would you ask?

I literally had no idea.

I scoured my brain for a witty phrase to impress her with and nothing came out. Mr confidence, who had been hanging around in the forefront of my brain and been egging me on, appeared to have chosen that moment to go out for lunch. I was dead in the water.

Silence.

She stared at me, waiting for an answer.

“Well” I mumbled, frantically trying to think of all the crap questions contestants had asked on the few shows I’d bothered watching “I could say ‘if you were a kitchen implement what would you be and why?’”

The relief was palpable, although it was clear, even to me, it was a TERRIBLE question.

“Ok Good” she said politely, writing some notes, “what would YOU be?”

Oh God. I had to answer it as well?

More silence

I cleared my throat which was suddenly dry.

“I … er”

“I’d be a wooden spoon” I said proudly, now looking like a frightened rabbit paralyzed in the headlights.

“and why?” she continued, evidently unaware of my inner pain.

More silence.

“I don’t know” I whispered in total capitulation like a naughty schoolboy who had finally had to admit to something they’d been denying.

“Well OK then” she carried on “thanks very much. I’ll just need a photo for our records”

She grabbed her camera with flashgun attached and asked me to pose. Knowing it was all over, the photo must have shown a broken man.

She thanked me again and it was clear from her body language it was time for me to go. I left through the same door I came in, slightly dazed, picked up Alison who was still full of excitement and enthusiasm, made my way back to the Student Union and downed several pints before I could even talk about it.

Preparation. Who knew?

Well, everyone apparently. Everyone else had decided NOT to rely on spontaneous over-confidence and shallow charm and actually do some.

They never called back.

The funny thing was that unbeknownst to me at roughly the same time in the South of England, one of my friends had also applied. Not only did he apply, he’d been selected as one of the three lads to be selected by the lady contestant. Then, he’d been chosen by her after decimating his unfortunate colleagues with sheer wit and went on a holiday with her. I wasn’t surprised, he was (and still is) a naturally very funny guy with a self deprecating humour that is as infectious as it is brilliant.

Twenty five years later, he wrote a comedy show based on his experience called ‘Blind Date Ruined my Life’ and took it to the Edinburgh Fringe. Wow. His story was WAY better than mine, but you’ll need to ask him to write it.

I’d probably just start mumbling about spoons and kitchen implements before shuffling off into another room.

Which would be embarrassing for us both.

If you enjoyed this article, these three lighthearted (and also true) pieces may also make you giggle!