survive this.

Some of you may not recall that at the Emerge holiday party 2005, I received a dare. A powerful dare. The worst kind of dare. A challenge couched in those magic words… “you won’t do it”. Stupid, stubborn, pigheaded and Italian, the infamous “you won’t do it” is the only surefire way to motivate me. This was the reason for the first Survivor application. Done on a whim, taped by a coworker, dashed off to meet the deadline prior to the close of the year, I didn’t think much of my three minutes of VHS whizzing off to LA until my phone rang three weeks later. Would I fill out the supplementary application and return it to the production offices? I suppose so. How odd. Would I then come to the final round of psychological testing in Boston? No, thank you, I will not take the entirety of my vacation time to sit in a hotel and be deprived of sleep and food. Thanks for playing. Check.

SO.

With the next season of Survivor upon us (and I don’t actually watch the show with any regularity), I was surprised to receive an invitation to a Boston area casting call. Several producers would be present, I was informed, along with the camera crews from CBS. Would I attend? Why not.

I bid the Emergites a fond adieu in relative secrecy yesterday and slowly rolled (decidedly at the speed of a paraplegic turtle) to Jordan’s Furniture in Reading, of all places. For you non-Massholes in the audience (hang in there, brave souls), Jordan’s is a monstrosity of a furniture store that features a major iMax theater, several full-seating restaurants, and a Disney-esque candyland. The parking lot looked like the unlikely union of Burning Man and a Kelly Clarkson concert – half idol-bearing, tie-dyed, camo-wearing freaks, half elementary school teachers and their stalwart, l.l. bean-touting significant others. Throw in a sprinkling of fifty-something North Shore moms wearing J.Lo jeans, and that was the representative sample of Boston. The “line” (clumps of humanity) stretched from the front door and snaked around the four sides of the parking lot. As there wasn’t a chance that I’d turn around just to sit in traffic, I took my Umberto Eco novel from my bag, tucked my skirt between my legs, and folded up on the pavement to wait…

and wait…

and wait.

Around 7:00, an ambiguous be-suited fellow with a media badge came out to the massive tiki-encrusted barbecue and started sending people home under the premise that with taping only occurring for another hour, there was NO way that we were going to get in. I waved him over, pulled out my email info, and showed him. Immediately, I was pulled from the line, and brought into the store, where several casting directors, producers, and Danielle from Survivor Panama were sitting in some very excellent air conditioning, chatting to a group of typical Boston Rob-types in Sox hats and a handful of medium-height, darkly-complected girls with big white teeth. With our powers combined, we were…the callback group.

The people outside were elbowing for a chance to record a three-minute video with the CBS camera crew while holding a number (how very Holocaust). We, however, had the opportunity to do a ten minute tape that was more of a conversational interview, and parts of our group interaction were also recorded. The girls were all bubbly, young professionals who clearly do not sunburn and can run not one but several miles. The guys were blue-color Bostonians who regularly do not use their Rs.

How much did I weigh, they wanted to know. Would I be open to gaining twenty pounds before any filming? The hungry girls get crazy, they said. Could I run a mile? How fast? Tell us about the horses. Are you close with your parents? Can we contact them? Who’s your best friend? Tell us about her. Your boyfriend? Can we talk with them as well? How did you get that cut on your calf? You’re only really scared of bellybuttons? We can’t work with that. How about spiders? Tarantula in your shower what? What are some topics that you wouldn’t be able to discuss at a dinner party? Ever been arrested? What do you normally eat? If you could be stranded with anyone, who would it be? Can you swim well? Do you excel at any sports?

The friendly suit from before pulled me aside as I was leaving. “Listen, advice for you – make another tape, and send it to LA. Have it postmarked by Friday.” From here, 800 people across the nation will make psychological testing rounds in thirteen major cities, including Boston. From there, 48 will go to LA for finals, and 16 from that group will be sent to the filming site.

Hmm.