3.24.00 - 20:19:11
Who wants to be a millionaire? I do! I do!
I’ve actually only seen snippets of the show. It’s fairly moronic, the questions are impossibly silly, and I’d rather drink a Fleet enema than sit through an entire hour of Ratboy Philbin. But, when someone at work said there’s a number you can call to qualify, I was dialing, baby!
What is wrong with me? Why do I always find myself saying “How high,” when the media tells me to jump? I’ll think about this later and get back to you.
When you call 1.800.433.8321, you have the opportunity to answer three questions. If you answer correctly, they tell you have qualified and they will randomly select names from all the qualifiers. If they pick you, they’ll call at a specified time with instructions for the next round.
I called. I answered the questions. I qualified. I got my specified time. Yippee, I thought. I’m going to be on TV! They told me I’d get a call between 12:00 and 3:00 this afternoon if I was randomly selected.
Randomly selected. HA!
Little do they know I work with a woman whose mother is a “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” expert. She says that because I’m a girl, I’m most definitely getting a call. This lady does a lot of crossword puzzles, loves Rosie and religiously watches The View, so I know she knows what she’s talking about.
12:00 rolls around and I’m ready. I got my lunch early, bowed out of the C---- meeting and prepared to wait for my call. By 1:00, my phone had not rung once. Baffled, I picked it up quickly to check the dail tone and omigod, it’s beeping. I have a message! I ran to the phone at the next desk and checked my voicemail. The only message was a machine-like clicking sound and then nothing. Disconnected.
I checked the time on the message. 11:50. Phew. Before noon. It couldn’t be them. I’m still safe. Safe until a co-worker said, “What time zone are they in?”
Time zone? TIME ZONE?! They’re in New York! It must be Eastern Standard Time! THEIR 12:00 is MY 11:00! Oh good lord, what have I done? I MISSED THE CALL! I did the only thing I could think of doing. I hit usenet and found a game show newsgroup. I HAD to know if they were going to call back.
Blessed relief. The game show junkies were on-line and willing to help. I got a swift reply and was assured they’d call back. But based on the time zone difference, they now only had about 20 minutes left in which to do so. Jeez, way to leave a girl hanging, ABC.
I wondered if Regis would do the calling. I imagined him ringing me up personally because I had answered the first questions so quickly and deftly. Sure I had charmed him with my swift and nimble touch tone punches, convinced I had left my name and phone number with such a charismatic voice that he’d really want to talk to me.
He’d ask, “Pinch? Do YOU want to be a millionaire?” I’d answer, “YES! YES I DO!”
By five of two, I was getting pretty annoyed. Plus, I realized I was fantasizing about Ratboy Philbin. Not a good thing--potential fodder for future nightmares (especially the “I do” part). I figured I’d check one more time and quickly picked up the phone to ensure the dial tone was in proper working order. What the f***? I had another message! How could this be? I was sitting right there!
Again, I ran to the desk next to mine and checked the voicemail. This time it was Hula. Hula. HULA! It hit me. I turned off the ringer yesterday because I was afraid he’d call about the tickets I was supposed to order and didn’t get around to ordering. I TURNED OFF THE RINGER TO DODGE MY HUSBAND AND NEVER TURNED IT BACK ON!
Who wants to be a dork? I do! I do!
