The New American Dream

Generations ago our ancestors arrived in this country to pursue a better life. They came to America to live a life of prosperity, religious freedom, and if you believe the clients I work with, the right to drive a Chevrolet. They worked hard, hoping to earn enough money to provide their children with a better life.

Over the last decade the dream has changed. Complete with dramatic lighting, jazzy sound effects, ousted participants and an annoying D-list host, the American Dream is now… to win a million dollars on a game show.

So, last Saturday morning, I excitedly dressed to attend the Open Casting Call for Deal or No Deal, held at the Millennium Center in Southfield, Michigan. For those of you who have never seen Deal or No Deal, here’s a quick summation: An overly excited, borderline insane contestant is selected to participate in the challenge: Find the one briefcase out of 26 that holds $1,000,000. The drama is heightened by offers meant to sway you from your quest by the insidious Banker, who sits on high like a modern day Dr. Claw, sans cat. Models in sparkly dresses hold the briefcases in perfect formation and appear to cheer you on when you select their case, but are really just relieved because their 4-inch heels hurt their feet and they can finally sit down. And the ringleader of the madness is Howie Mandel, formally known for harassing strangers on the street with his hidden camera pyrotechnics. I freaking love this show.

Its probably the only show in the history of American television that offers contestants with no discernable skills, save for the ability to read a number on a briefcase and point, the chance to win a million dollars. Have I mentioned I love this show?

My friend Nikki first alerted me to the open call auditions. We decided that we had to go. The gates opened at 10am so we met at 9:30. Unfortunately, roughly 7,000 people got there before us. The first couple of hours on line were fun. We chatted, we made friends with the other would be contestants around us. The sun was shining and the temperature was cool. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my day. By 1pm we had moved far enough in the line and were convinced we were “half way there.” By 2pm we crested the turn in the parking lot and realized there were a helluva lot more people there than we originally thought. By 3pm the pain had settled in our feet. My shins hurt, my back hurt and the bag I carried on my shoulder weighed at least 100 pounds.

3pm was our breaking point. Nikki and I looked at each other. I could tell both of us wanted to go home. Nikki said, “I’ll go home if you want to.” I replied, “I won’t ask you to leave.” The problem is we couldn’t leave. We had already been there for five hours. To leave would be a waste, but to stay – well, that couldn’t be a waste, could it?

We persevered. We inched forward on the line. The sun settled low behind the trees and we realized we were sun burnt to a crisp. Dirt and debris began to blow on the ground. Not enough trashcans were provided and pizza boxes, water bottles and I swear I saw this, a whole fried chicken carcass, littered the ground. And we still inched closer. By 5pm, irony settled over us like the swirling cloud of parking lot dust that caked our skin; because so many people had become discouraged and left behind us, we were still only “half way there.” I think it was at this point I began to laugh like a hyena.

By 7pm we arrived at the door to the Millennium Center. Shaded from the sun, we began to shiver. We waited. At 7:45 we were allowed inside. We were led into an auditorium filled with even more people. We waited again. At least now we were seated and warm and not surrounded by filth.

At 8:30 a casting dude arrived on stage to inform us of what was to come next. We would be divided into groups of 10. We would approach a casting associate and have 20 seconds to reveal something about ourselves. I waited nervously. 20 seconds? What could I say in 20 seconds about myself that would be both interesting and unique enough to set me apart from all 7,000 people that came before me?

And then it was time. My waiting had finally come to an end. Nikki and I were shuttled into line and we ran up the steps. We entered the stage. As I waited in line for 11 hours I imagined what this moment would bring. I kept picturing the final scene in Flashdance. I would arrive in a sun-dappled room (forget that it was 9:30pm) and approach a table that separated me from several stern looking men in suits. I would smile and being my audition.

Instead, my group of ten ran onto stage and saw one, lone, 24 year old casting assistant who’s only claim to authenticity was the white cotton “Deal or No Deal” shirt she wore. One by one we went and one by one we choked. And then it was my turn. I racked my brain. I said: “Hello. My name is Rachel Sterling. I’m 30 years old and I’m from New York City. I used to live in Times Square over a porn shop next to a strip club with my sister and her girlfriend. I’ve lived in Detroit for a year. I work as a video editor and I cut Chevy spots all day.” Fin.

I looked at the casting assistant. I yearned for some recognition. Some sign that would tell me whether I’d made the cut. She smiled and then turned to Nikki. That was it. 11 hours and 30 minutes and all I got was a polite nod.

Nikki did well and she too received a non-response. In fact no one in my group yielded any sort of positive feedback, even the woman who claimed she would propose to her boyfriend on the show, or another woman who insisted that every time the Banker made her an offer she would shave a row of her hair off.

My band of ten left dejected. We were only slightly encouraged to learn that barely anyone had received a callback that day. Instead, they hold your information on file and can call you anytime between now and a year to cast you on the show.

You may think we were crazy to have waited out the day. Perhaps you’re right. But Nikki and I left the Millennium Center and we were filled with joy. We had done it. And who knows? Maybe one day in the not so distant future, I may get that phone call. I may get my shot at the New American Dream.