What it’s Like to Be on a Game Show

A candid look at my game show adventure

I was on the Weakest Link twenty-two years ago (when I was twenty-two, and that makes me feel old). It feels like it was just yesterday, but it was half a lifetime ago. I remember it in such detail.

If you remember that show, a bitchy, abrupt British lady would say, “You ARE the Weakest Link, goodbye!” and make fun of you, especially as you left the show. Apparently, it was so popular they created a daytime syndicated version. That’s the one I was on. The host was a man named George Gray.

I was in Las Vegas about a month before, and they were doing a contestant search at the Hard Rock Hotel. “That sounds like fun,” I thought, even though I’d never seen the show. I had already spent and won all the money I felt like spending at the tables, so why not? A time killer, at the very worst, I figured. At best, I get on a game show. Game shows are… game shows, right? Answer questions, win. Easy, I thought.

I went and took some trivia tests, and when I turned it in, the guy’s eyebrows rose. He passed me to the next level, where we did screen tests and talked about our personalities.

I can’t remember what I said, but I do specifically remember them going, “Wait, really?” when I said I could drink an imperial (20-ounce) pint of Guinness in six seconds or less. Repeatedly. This is true; I did it as a bar race all the time to get people to buy me drinks. They never figured a small-boned gal could beat the lads.

We then did a mock game that they filmed. We drank no Guinness. The whole thing took about two or three hours. When I was finished, they said they would call up to two years later if we made the show. (The show lasted only two years, by the way)

Three days later, I was back in San Francisco, where I lived at the time. I got a phone call. “We want you on the Weakest Link!” A very cheerful woman explained. “Can we fly you down next week?”

Um, yes. Please fly me down to L.A. to be on the Weakest Link so I can possibly win and make thousands of dollars! I pretty much said exactly that, and the arrangements were made. I’d leave next Wednesday and be back by Friday, with filming on Thursday. The show would air up to 90 days after the filming, but we would be informed of the air date.

The following week, I flew down to LAX, and a limo picked me up at the airport; there was a bored, bald man holding a card with my name on it. People stared, wondering who I was. I felt amazing. He did not let me hang out of the sunroof.

It wasn’t my first or even tenth time in Los Angeles, but I decided to just let myself be a full tourist. I like southern California, but the home of my heart is northern California. I loved living in the City because I was young. It was a really life-changing experience on so many levels…and the live music opportunities were unreal.

We got to the hotel, and they said the day was mine, the evening a short meeting, and then the next day was filming! I spent most of the day in the hotel room resting, taking a long, relaxing bubble bath and nap, a short walk, and ordering room service while I called all my friends. There was no per diem, which I thought was strange. So food and drink were on me, but I didn’t mind.

I was going to be on a fucking game show!

I had never watched the show, much less the syndicated version, by the way. I hoped they explained the rules again.

That evening, I met the producers in the lobby for a short reiteration of what was expected the next day. There were thirty of us. We were all meeting to be shuttled to the studio early the next morning.

Afterward, I took a taxi to a British pub, the closest thing to the hotel, and had a drink or three while I told a couple of old British soldiers what I’d thought of Thatcher. Couldn’t help myself. Old habits die hard.

They couldn’t beat me in the Guinness race, either. It was all good fun, and I returned early to get a good night’s sleep.

The next morning, I was down in the lobby, sort of ready to go at 7 am. I was NOT awake on one cup of weak hotel coffee. I was not even close to being a morning person. I fell asleep in the van on the way to the studio but perked up once I got there.

Then I found out they were filming five shows that day, and we were to be sequestered all day until it was our turn to film. If we had to go to the bathroom, security escorted us. They even stood outside the bathroom stall. If you had a cell phone, they took it. It was 2001 or early 2002, but not everyone had a cell yet. I couldn’t even play Snake on my Nokia.

If you needed to make a call, they listened to your end. It was all to stop cheating or even the appearance of impropriety, they explained.

They brought us to this massive unused set and dumped thirty future contestants in there. Then, we drew straws to assign the order of filming. My team of six was number four, which meant we had about a six-hour wait. Great.

I looked at my teammates, who I’d just met. They’d given each team a table, and each teammate introduced themselves.

There were six per team. I introduced myself and went around individually.

There was Vicki, who was in her late fifties, worked in a factory, and was jonesing for a ciggie the whole time. Her top teeth were false and tended to slide around a bit.

Next was Holly, the preschool teacher. She talked about her “students” (they were toddlers) and her husband, whom she’d never spent a night apart from since they’d gotten married until now. She was wholesome. You know, from one of those grain-fed flyover states. I liked her.

Next was Howard, the sex shop manager from Phoenix, who followed Holly around. He repeatedly hit on her. He talked about his job. She’d turn beet red. Holly was super married. She repeatedly said so. Howard made everyone uncomfortable until I pulled him aside and asked him to cool it. Surprisingly, he did so and even apologized to Holly publicly… it was a good reminder that people are not living in black and white, with rigidity. We exist in the grays. He was looking for an adventure. Wrong game show. He realized it, and we all moved on civilly. If only our leaders would do so… I digress.

Next, I met Mike, the waiter/actor who looked like a young Kirk Cameron with dimples and a big “who, me?” shit grin. He turned out to be incredibly sweet and kind. He was only a couple of years older than me.

Finally, there was Phil, who said he was twenty-nine, and a man who was the epitome of an Oompa Loompa and forever called that after meeting him. Nobody called him Phil. He walked like both a robot and an Oompa on purpose, was about five feet three inches, and was complete with a greasy, hair-sprayed curl across the forehead like a kewpie doll, the rest of it standing up like the Oompa Loompas. He said he enjoyed looking like a troll. Okaaay. I’d stay away from Oompa, I thought.

The last contestant was me, Elle. Twenty-two, living in San Francisco, loving my early twenties before my MCAS became a daily life occurrence.

Hours rolled by. We got to know each other. We played UNO, Scrabble, and trivia games and told each other why we wanted to win and what we’d do with the money. All of us got misty-eyed at least once, hearing each other’s stories, with the exception of Oompa, who interrupted to say he wanted to travel; I said I wanted to win because I wanted a formal education and to travel for my human rights campaigns.

I noticed that after a while, I… liked these people.

Each of us had such good reasons to be there; we soon saw what they had planned. Have us like one another, so we didn’t want to vote them off. Clever. Truly, everyone was nice, even the troll, mostly.

Another hour went by. Oompa Loompa approached me as I was by myself, picking at the chip bags on the snack table. “Hey,” he said, nodding his head. Then he stood there, waited, and didn’t say anything else. Just smirked weirdly. Staring.

“Um. Hey…” I said back. “Did you need something?”

He crossed his arms and nodded his head at me. Then:

“Yeah, a little bit of you,” he grinned (Oh, vomit. I put back the chips I was about to get, appetite gone). He persisted. “Want to get together after the show?” He waggled his eyebrows at me. His kewpie curl didn’t move.

Oh, shit, no. This was a moment in my life that was actually happening, and despite my revulsion, I hate being mean and rejecting people, period.

“Like, you mean a drink?” I pretended to be clueless. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. UGH UGH UGH

Nope. Wait, I thought. Just wait. Think like someone who came here to win.

“Are you going to vote me off? Don’t vote me off, and I’ll think about it,” I countered quietly and breathlessly. My mind was spinning now.

He adjusted his gelled Oompa curl and leered again, then leaned in close so I could smell his putrid breath.

I’m not kidding or exaggerating the effect of this for the piece. Two decades later, I can still recall, just like Rose can still smell the fresh paint on Titantic eighty-four years later. It smelled exactly like he had eaten some feces, vomited them up, and then ate them again.

“That’s a deal. I’ll be waiting,” he said lubriciously and sauntered off. I let out a breath, thoroughly disgusted, but a bit of a plan was forming.

I zeroed in on the one person I knew I could get on my side. Kirk Cameron, cutie Mike. We were close in age, and both were single. It was obvious there was an attraction as well. It wasn’t why I was there, however, so I had ignored it until now. I turned my flirting up a bit. Not that I was great at it. I’m a more awkward nerdy flirt, but I let him talk about himself. I got the feeling he didn’t know a ton of people, as he actually lived in the Hollywood area.

It was almost time for the game before I finally got Mike alone. “Hey,” he whispered as they were fitting us for microphones and prepping us for the show. “You want to go out after this?” Yessssssss! Hooked him.

I met his eyes and grinned.

They assigned us numbers for the places where we’d stand. I was between Mike, who was one, and Oompa was three. I was two.

They had us stand in two bunches of three backstage, and I made it work for me.

“Don’t vote me off, okay? Hey Oompa,” I called him over to me and Mike, “let’s do this. Vote number five, six, four, and then it will be down to us three. Deal?” I didn’t even look to see who I was damning in what order; I just wanted to win, and that’s why I’d come there.

“Deal,” said Mike, and winked at me. “Dealio,” Oompa chimed in, winking at me. UGH

They had me stand on a clear plastic box because I was short, even though I was wearing my cute, chunky low heels. Oompa’s box was even higher off of the ground. It made us all look even in the camera shots. They did some reaction shots — “okay, look shocked, look happy, laugh, sad, embarrassed,” and poses like that.

Finally, the game began. You had to answer trivia questions correctly to build up a rolling bank from person to person. If someone got it wrong, the bank dropped, and everyone would want to vote that person off.

All I could think was “five, six, four, Oompa” over and over. I was so focused on the alliance that I froze. The game was afoot. There were cameras floating in my face everywhere, and I got my first two answers wrong.

That’s right. I was the weakest link in round one.

I had to hope my alliance held strong. Before voting, I tried to catch the eye of Mike, but we were only allowed to look at other players at certain times. The rules stated clearly once a game began, you could not form an alliance… but there genuinely was nothing about doing it in the six hours we spent together beforehand. The funny thing was, nobody had ever tried it.

The host, who saw that after round one, I was basically chum in the water, graciously pointed out to my team how much they would have won had I not been the weakest link in that round.

Holly, Vicki, and Howard voted for me to be taken off. Every round, you see, you voted off a weak link till it was two people standing.

The silence seemed to stretch forever, and then George asked me who I wanted to vote off. Number five was the smart, sweet, and very married Holly. I voted for her.

“Why?” George said, “Holly was the strongest link in that round!”

Well, shit. Shit, shit, shit…

“She banked slowly.” It was the only thing I could come up with, as we were told to insult the players.

“Uh, you didn’t bank at all,” George helpfully pointed out to the team.

I wanted to punch him in his fucking throat so bad. Then the moment came, and Mike and Oompa voted for…

Holly.

“My students are going to be so disappointed in me,” she sniffled and exited.

They voted off Holly. I was still standing! Okay, pull your shit together, Elle, now!

In the next round, I got them all right, but I banked too early. I knew some people would disagree, but it was the smart move at the time.

Voting came around.

VICKI: “Elle.”

HOWARD: “Elle.”

OOMPA: “Howard.”

ELLE: “Howard.”

“Wait,” said George. “Mike, before you cast your vote, do you want to tell me about the little alliance you’ve clearly got going on with these two?”

I dared to look at Mike. He looked at me quickly, and his eyes twinkled. “I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about,” Mike said. I bit back my smile.

“Elle? Are you stringing Ooompa and Mike along here? This is the second round you were the weakest link in. It is a tie. If Mike casts his vote for Howard, he goes home. I should also mention that in the case of a tie, the strongest link would get the deciding vote. That link, in this round, was your ‘alliance buddy’ Mike. Will it hold?”

I batted my eyes, smiled, and shrugged. Internally, I was praying Mike wouldn’t care that I was the weakest link again.

George shook his head, insulted my intelligence in a misogynistic way, and said, “Okay, Mike, it’s up to you.”

MIKE: “Howard.”

In the next round, I found my feet and ended up as the strongest link! My alliance voted Vicki off, and it was down to the final three. Me, Oompa, and Mike.

No brainer. We voted Oompa off so fast the audience was laughing, and he exited the stage singing, “Oompa Loompa doopity doo,” and walked funny.

I can look back twenty-two years, and I think he was the bravest one of us. He was authentically himself. At the time, I was just glad to see him go.

Now, the real game could begin. No banking, just three questions. If you got three correct first, you won the game.

Before we started, George said, “You two were clearly part of an alliance, and now you’ve gotten what you wanted. Do you want to admit to anything before we continue?”

No, dude. I do not. I just want to win the game. At this point, it’s taken about 45 minutes to film a half-hour game. During the breaks, they came out with a sweater for my sleeveless arms. I was turning pink from the cold of the stage air. My as-yet undiagnosed MCAS was starting to show. They warmed my arms back to normal, but it totally annoyed me, and I was getting very tired. Still… I had a feeling.

“Let’s do this,” I said. I grinned at Mike. “May the best woman win.”

We shook hands, and the questions began.

I don’t remember the first question Mike was asked, but he got it right. No worries, breathe; here you go.

“Elle, question one: what are the five words Dorothy says to get back to Kansas in The Wizard of Oz?”

Easy peasy. “There’s no place like home.” I still counted on my fingers behind my back.

"That’s CORRECT! Mike, question two: what is the capital of Washington state?”

He looked blank. “Macaroni and cheese.”

“Okay, he didn’t know that one and failed at the funny, too. Elle, your question: what is the Spanish word for ‘crown?’”

Duh. I was born on Cinco de Mayo. Every one of my cheap-ass friends used to buy me the 25-cent beer special for my birthday. I always wanted Guinness, but I knew the answer was:

“Corona.”

“Mike, you have to get this right to stay in the game. Are you ready? What is the name of the famous African American civil rights leader who served on the U.S. Supreme Court?” “Thurgood Marshall.”

Shit! He’d gotten it right!

“Elle. Elle, who couldn’t get an answer right at first, is now down to the final two without admitting your alliance. You seem to have found your feet. Are you ready for your question? If you get this right, you win the game.”

Gulp.

“Ready.”

“What is the name of the famous crooked street in San Francisco?”

HAHAHA I KNOW THIS I LIVE IN THAT FUCKING CITY, my brain screamed!

Wait. Is this a trick question? It can’t be that easy. I knew there was actually a more crooked street than Lombard, but it’s in a neighborhood that isn’t as nice and off the beaten path. So it couldn’t be…only locals would know that anyway. So. Yeah, it’s that easy, Elle, answer the damn question!

“Lombard,” I said with the biggest shit grin I’ve ever had on my face.

“Elle, you’ve won eleven thousand dollars! Mike, you played well, you stuck with your alliance, and then you got outplayed. You are the Weakest Link. Goodbye.”

I shit grinned as I waved to George and went upstairs to the “booth,” where they got your “confessional.”

“How do you feel?” a producer asked me. My exact answer:

“Well, I came here to prove that I do have a brain in my head. Can’t always get what we wish for. Nonetheless, I’m still walking away with the win,” I said. I laughed. I’d won!

On my way out, George shook my hand. “That was really good, the alliance. Good TV. So, are you going out after this?”

My eyes widened. But yeah, I had plans and told him so. Walked away. See ya, George. He’s the announcer on the Price is Right now.

AFTERMATH: We went to a karaoke bar, all six of us, and got shit-faced in the best memory-making way possible. Yes, I made out with Mike after. Pshaw. He was a perfect gentleman. Vicki made out with Oompa, though, and while they were making out, she yelled, “You’re my son’s age!” and puffed on her cigarette. Her dentures came out, and she sucked them back in. Howard hounded me all night til Mike had to tell him to back off. He slunk off; I never saw him again.

He called my hotel room at 2 am, somehow having gotten the room number, which I found not okay at all. I told him to go away. He did, and that was the end of Howard.

Mike and I spent the night spooning and talking. I told you he was a gentleman. We finally fell asleep late, and I missed my shuttle to the airport, which had to get there four hours early to meet everyone’s flight times. Mike had a car, and so he drove me to the airport in plenty of time. He held my hand the whole way.

I never spoke to Mike — or any other contestant — again. It was a bubble moment, and it was meant to be for just that time. We all went our separate ways, and I had an experience of a lifetime.