Resumption of the Chance

And it begins anew.  My annual pas de deux with an unrequited dream, a symbiotic synthesis of singular surge.  The Chance.

How long have I tried to capture the attention of The Chance?  Longer than I care to remember.  So long, in fact, that I still dare not mention its name, only to reference it by an oblique generic sobriquet, a surname devoid of anything more than an opportunity.  I would most assuredly utter Voldermort’s name before mentioning the true name of The Chance.  Jinxes are everywhere.  I don’t want to be part of one.

And in doing so… I’m changing some of my usual approach tactics.

May 23, 2012. It’s noon, and I’m getting on the Amtrak from Albany to New York City.  I’m changing my tactics this year.  Rather than drive down to the Big Apple and navigate the traffic and pay $$ for gas and $$ for tolls and $$$$ for parking… I’m just going to buy a round-trip train ticket, walk from Penn Station to uptown, and keep all my thoughts solidly in my head.  Its my moment of zen.  I’m entitled.

I arrive in New York City at around 2:45 p.m. – three hours ahead of my appointment.  I need a good leisurely walk from Penn Station to uptown.  A little sightseeing, a little window-shopping, a little this and a little that.  A burger consumed at a diner-like restaurant called The Counter.  Remain focused.

And as I walk past the cinemas and theaters on my way uptown, I remind myself that even though I’m intellectually qualified for The Chance, I have to get past the physical interview.  Just like every dancer who wants to get in the chorus line has to get past the audition.  Just like every understudy who wants to play the lead has to wait for that opportunity.

And I’m reminded of my friend Whitney Avalon.

Ten years ago, I met Whitney at a convention in Chicago.  We stayed in touch, mostly an e-mail back and forth two or three times a year.  Back then, she was graduating from college and dreamed of a Hollywood acting career.  And in those ten years, she took every bit part and summer stock show she could get.  Whatever it took.  Appearing as “unnamed secretary” on an episode of Law and Order.  Appearing as “Dead Body #3” on an episode of CSI. Appearing as “Wife with fake husband and fake kids” in a Pizza Hut commercial.  And now she’s got speaking parts in TV shows – I swear I actually saw her in an episode of The Big Bang Theory.  She never gave up.  And her dream is coming true.

And if she can do it… you know darn well I can do it.

I arrive at the location for my appointment.  Hundreds of people are in line, a queue that stretches all the way to Central Park.

I stand against the wall.  I keep an internal focus.

“Hey, you with the glasses and beard!”

I glance.

An attractive young woman in her mid-20’s is looking straight at me.  I immediately notice that her cobalt blue eyeshadow matches her cobalt blue jacket.  “Yes?”

“I think I remember you.  Didn’t you try out for this thing last year?”

Uh-oh.  Have I tried out so many times that they’re already prepared for me showing up?  I look at her jacket.  There’s no badges or identification that denotes her as a Chance employee.

“Yes,” I replied.  “I tried out last year.”

“I THOUGHT you did,” she said, smiling.  “I was in line last year, and I swear I saw you.  And you got through the initial test, I remember!”

“Well,” I smiled.  “I only got so far… because I’m back in line now.”

“I know,” she beamed.  “I’m trying too.  I want to get on this show so badly.  My name’s Brenna.”

“Chuck,” I replied.  “Nice to meet you.”

Just then, an employee from The Chance asks for our driver’s licenses.  We produce them.  Another employee asks if we would sign a form.  “We’re going to be taking pictures today and putting them on Facebook,” he said, “and if you’re willing to be in the picture, we need your signature.”

I signed the paper.  “If it means getting on The Chance,” I said, “I’ll let you take a picture of me while I’m wearing a diaper and a pacifier.”

We all had a good laugh.  Thankfully this wasn’t an audition for Let’s Make a Deal, or the guy might have actually called my bluff.

The line moves forward.  We enter the test area.

The test forms are handed out.  The answer slips are handed out.  A package of #2 pencils are placed on the tables.  We are ready.

I know the routine. Thirty minutes. Ten questions.  I am identified as applicant #173.  173?  How the heck am I going to associate 173 with anything?  There’s no 173 that plays in baseball… there’s no 173 that drives in NASCAR… Dang it, Harry Lorayne, where are you when I need you?

Begin – – – – now.

I go through the routine. I know the answers. Pepper.  Salt.  Barley malt.  Butterfly stitch.  Sam and Twitch.  Richie Rich.  Scarlet Witch.  I got this.  I got this.

Then I run into a question about the Kardashians.  Which of the Kardashians is the oldest?

I don’t know… the one that was part of O.J. Simpson’s defense team?

Time’s up.

We hand in our answer slips and our questionnaires.

Waiting.  Waiting.  I had no idea on the Kardashian question, and took a guess that the oldest Kardashian is Kourtney.  I based this on the fact that she probably uses the most pancake makeup of all the Kardashians before she is seen in public.  Bisquick Kardashian.  Ha.

And then the numbers are called.

“90. 3. 173. 27. 62…”

173?  Hey wait that’s me, I’m 173 – FIST PU—

No.  Just a tiny fist clench.  Tactics are changed.  Act like you’ve been here before, Chuck.  Act like you’ve been here before.  Well, yeah, because you’ve BEEN here before.

And now it’s time for the physical interview.  I answer all the questions.  I smile.  Yes, I do know how to smile.  I try to be as natural and as upbeat as possible.

I am told that I will receive a postcard in three weeks.

I can handle this.

As I exit the building, with my mind on whether I should walk back to Penn Station or take the subway, I heard a squeal of delight.

It was Brenna.  She had made it through the test portion and had received a physical interview.  We celebrated.  High fives all around.

And on that street corner, we talked about what this would mean if the Chance selected us.  And that each time we showed up, each time we auditioned, each time we set up an interview appointment, each time we passed that written test… it showed the determination and will power to never give up.

Especially now… because both of us are going to get The Chance to notice us.  To accept us.  To welcome us in and give us our opportunity.

But for now… we wait for the postcard.

===

June 2, 2012. Mailbox. Postcard. From the Chance.

Part of me already knows what it’s going to say.  I’ve been here before.  I almost want to check the computer ahead of time and look for my next possible appointment.

I’m not giving up.  I don’t care if I wallpaper my apartment with rejection slips.  It means I’m still trying and I’m not giving up.

Come on, Chance. Give me a try. Please. You know I can play. You know I have it in me. Please.

I sit down. I turn the card over.

“Thank you for your interest in becoming a contestant on ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire.” You have not been selected to be a potential contestant. We appreciate your continued interest in the show and thank you for taking the time to audition with us. Game sponsor reserves the right to limit the number of times a person may attempt to qualify for the show to five times per year. For official rules, please visit http://www.millionairetv.com.”

Aww, nertz.  A faster rejection than in previous years.  They took less than ten days to shoo me away.

And for a few minutes, that wasn’t what I saw on the paper. My eyes saw those words, but my brain translated the words into something else… something that truly spoke to how I felt at that very moment.

“Oh, it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a – oh look, Chuck Miller is back.  Oh look, he’s trying to get on the show again.  Oh look how easy it is to reject him.  Can you say ‘failure?’  Sure.  I knew you could.  Hey Miller, snap out of the Neighborhood of Make Believe, we don’t care if you visit us by plane or by train or by whooping crane, you’re not getting on our show.  We don’t care if you visit us by boat or by goat or by gravity-defying coat, you’re not getting on the show.  And the moment you get that through your noggin, the better off we all will be.  It’s such a good feeling to kick you to the curb, it’s such a happy feeling to kick you to the curb.  You are never – and we mean NE-E–E–E-VER – getting on this show.  Have a nice day – you loser.”

Yeah, maybe I should just give up.  Maybe I should just toss this dream into the toilet and keep on flushing.

Screw that.

Trust me.  No matter how long it takes, no matter how far I go.

I will reach my goal.

I will make The Chance accept me.  I will get there and be a part of The Chance.

And I will never – and I mean NE-E–E–E-VER – give up.

Because this time I know I’m not the only one in the hunt.  There’s Brenna and a hundred other people who have tried and tried and kept on trying.

And if they don’t give up… then why should I?

Count on it, crumbcakes.   Knock me down seven times… watch me get up eight times.