bb's first survivor audition

I arrive at the Minneapolis Convention Center just before 3PM and I don’t see anyone at all. I thought there would be a line out the door, or at least very visible chaos inside. But it’s quiet as I wait for my friend, Bre, to arrive before we join the queue.   

We’re meeting here to audition for Survivor, at one of the open casting calls scheduled in 2024. In my Uber on the way to the center, I read that most contestants are not selected from these events, but the idea of making an audition video from home holds less drama and appeal.

The sole indicator of this event.

I have fond memories of watching reality competition shows with my family when I was young. Until we secured a DVR, we were allowed to watch Who Wants to Be a Millionaire while eating dinner, as a treat. Together we watched Big Brother, The Apprentice (hahahahhahaa), The Amazing Race, and Survivor. Even in the early seasons of Survivor when contestants were provided rice (as they are NOT in the new era) and I was a child with an imagination, I never aspired to be on the show.

But when my son was born in some of the most uncertain time of the pandemic, I experienced an isolation that could only be (partially!) soothed by CBS reality TV. I put an earbud with Big Brother audio into my head and hardly ever took it out. The consistent setting made me feel safe, the technically innocuous gameplay, comforted. When I finished Big Brother seasons, I pivoted to Survivor. This obsession, coupled with the people in my life bloating my ego, had me thinking I could make a compelling character on one of these shows.

Cirie, Survivor Panama, 2006.

At the Convention Center, nothing is incredibly well-marked. The Twin Cities Auto Show is also taking place here today, and Bre and I ensure we’re not in line to view a Honda. Ultimately, most people are here to audition, and we’re the first people forced to stand outside to wait. I am looking forward to people joining behind us, but I’m horrified when a woman approaches and greets me immediately, enthusiastically, and too closely.

“I’m right by the lady with the purple sweatshirt and the pretty hair,” she says looking at me and smiling almost sinisterly. It is fifty degrees, but she wears a black heavy peacoat that reaches her ankles. I immediately clock her “I (heart) Trump” bedazzled broach below her collar.

Faced with the reality that I will be standing in line next to this person for hours, I laugh awkwardly and thank her for the indirect compliment. Bre and I have a brief exchange about how my bangs are growing out. I had cut them myself hastily weeks prior, and they’d been a mess.

“I think they look fine,” Peacoat Lady says as she reaches up and tousles them on my forehead. I literally don’t know what to do so I go “whoa whoa whoa heh heh heh” which is a Midwestern scream of horror but it goes unrecognized.

The guy directly in front of us in line asks if we will hold his spot so he can scope out the line, and we agree. The Peacoat Lady is like “HUH?? What’d you say???”

When he returns, we speculate about how long the people at the very beginning of the line have been there. There are hundreds upon hundreds of people here. There were murmurs, he says, that they’d been there since 6:30AM. The auditions begin at 4PM.

“I’m only here because my friend that has cancer convinced me that I should apply. and that I would win,” the guy in front of us explains. I’d forgotten how Survivor, especially in this new era, often dissolves into contestants offering their tragic and/or inspiring stories to camera. Jeff Probst, Survivor’s host and apparently a big part of the casting process, would surely know how to respond to our line buddy. But I don’t know what to say.   

It isn’t a problem for our Peacoat Lady, though. She tells us her mom just died last week and she’d also had cancer, seemingly separately. We all murmur sympathies and are grateful when the line begins to move. It’s just after 4PM.

Hannah, Survivor 45, 2023.

We exchange no names with the six-ish people around us, but we drift in and out of conversation as the line snakes around the center. Sometimes only Bre and I are talking. Peacoat Lady can be counted on to enter a conversation unprompted. An awkwardly shaped circle of us start discussing the current airing season of Survivor. Jeff Probst recently did an interview where he mentioned they’ve stopped intentionally casting villains, and we try to decide if that’s a good idea. I love a TV villain, but I’m sure there has been carnage for those playing exaggerated versions of themselves. Doxxing has surely lessened the fun.

A bearded man walks by us, holding up a small piece of paper that reads “2A”.
“Good luck everyone – I’m already done,” he gloats.

After we’ve been waiting ninety minutes, someone from casting comes by and distributes a hand-out with prompts for the audition. We should provide our name, age, occupation, story of our lives, where we’re from, why we want to be on Survivor, and ideally something no one could tell by just looking at us – all in a sixty second slot.

“What’s something you might not know by looking at me?” Bre asks me. She goes to probably a hundred concerts a year, everyone is always eager to tell her a weird story, and she’s basically psychic so I’m like “what about ME” and Peacoat Lady goes “huh?? WHAT????”

Without pause, we all fill out a video release and waiver that authorizes CBS to do whatever they want with the footage they’ll collect today. Additionally, the waiver releases the producers from any obligation to select us for the show (duh) but also clarifies that if we are under serious consideration, we will have to sign our lives away before we even make final rounds.

At a table adjacent to the solitary Survivor audition sign, a woman sits amongst piles of papers. In exchange for our waivers, we are provided tickets to the Auto Show. Immediately across a walkway to our left, someone collects the tickets and directs us to a room deeper into the building. While we walk, we speculate about what awaits us.

Bre and I - high on the rush of making it to the next line.

What we find is another long line, but this time we’re surrounded by cars.

“Who is the auto show really FOR?” The guy directly in front of us, the one with the friend who has cancer and believes in him, wonders aloud. I look around and spot seven men of similar age, with similar haircuts, that are all wearing flannel shirts. Various vendors stand ready to converse with enthusiastic auto show attendees, but mostly it’s this line of Survivor auditioners.

We consider where we’ll audition, since we still cannot spot the end of the line. Maybe we’ll be split into different rooms. I’ve heard Big Brother auditions include a group segment. Even as someone with a loud voice, I’m horrified by this idea.

We finally round the last bend of the line and spot what we’ve been anticipating. Between a giant utility vehicle and the furthest wall of this massive room, cameras can be spotted. Along the final stretch, we view a lineup of replica novelty vehicles such as a Scooby Doo’s Mystery Machine, a Batmobile, and the car from Back to the Future. Next to this final one is a cardboard cut out of Michael J Fox that looks so small but prompts me to Google how tall he is – did everyone know he’s 5’4”???

As we shuffle slowly past Michael J Fox, the delirium sets in. We have been standing in line for almost four hours and the nerves are getting to me. I’m tempted to self-sabotage as a means of protection. I jokingly consider doing impressions for the camera and offer some up for Bre. She’s a good sport and a bad comedian’s dream so she laughs even when I do Scooby Doo too long.

Finally we reach another table piled with papers, an indicator of importance twice on this day. An employee sitting there explains the process to us. We’ll sign in to one of the two lines and wait to audition for one of the two cameras. A wrapped Jimmy John’s sandwich sits on the table, and I realize I’m so hungry as I sign my name.  

Bre and Peacoat Lady head one way, and the guy with the encouraging friend and I head the other. Temporary WCCO backdrops are propped up behind a line of tape on the floor in front of each camera. We’ll have to hit MARKS.

Literally life-sized Michael J Fox.

As we inch along in our final moments before our turn, I eavesdrop on those speaking to camera. I see a lot of physical choreography that accompanies clearly rehearsed speeches. At least three people within my earshot mention they’ll use their Minnesota-Nice-persona as a façade. I think of the handout we received in line that emphasized it is VITAL to be AUTHENTIC. Ideally no scripts or gimmicks. But how authentic can anyone be in sixty seconds??

I should have said that. Or a million other things.

What happens instead is I’m so committed to being authentic that I go in unprepared. I watch the guy with the sick friend audition in front of me. He confidently gestures to the camera, but not in a way that suggests he’s practiced. Maybe his friend is right. Sixty seconds is up quickly, and then it’s my turn.

I stand on the mark, the man behind the camera reminds me to hold up my number and say my name, age, where I am from, and what I do for a living. I recite my stats and roll my eyes mentioning my day job. I’m so dismissive of it, I can’t keep it together for these few seconds.  Whoops. Then the guy behind the camera goes “now, why do YOU wanna be on Survivah?” as though he’s adopted an Australian accent in the last few seconds.

Caught off guard by a totally reasonable question, my mind goes blank. In line, I planned to go through the prompts as they were listed on the sacred paper given to us. I’d say my name, age, talk about St Paul, my family, my passions. Then I figured I’d hit what I think makes a good contestant on Survivor and why I align with those qualities. With the sequence destroyed, I’m toast.  

I hover over my body and hear myself say things like “there is always a dusty Midwestern mom on the show and that should be me!” as if that’s even how I view myself. I do mention my creative ventures, including this newsletter (specifically the cheese shop rankings efforts) before the camera captures me deciding that there surely isn’t enough time left to say anything of substance.  

With a “so…..yeah! Thanks!” I regain eye contact with the camera guy, who raises an eyebrow. I collect my scarf and bag I’d set aside and disappear into the auto show.  

Candace and Billy, Survivor: Cook Islands, 2006.

Bre and I are in an immediate search for a meal. We walk to the only food vendor we can find and order overpriced combos. We eat as though we’ve been on an island for ten days, and are greeted by Peacoat Lady once again.  

“I got a hot dog,” she says two inches from Bre’s ear, crunching on bag of recently-opened potato chips.

By now, she is more fascinating to me than threatening. But I don’t miss her when she disappears into the night. Bre and I sit in some of the cars displayed at the auto show and test the horns. As we suspect, they’re disconnected. We meet up with her friend who joined the line an hour after we did. A production assistant of some kind has the unfortunate task of sharing bad news with hundreds of people still in line just before 9PM. There won’t be enough time for everyone to have their sixty seconds in front of the camera. We join a deflated group as we leave. We’ve spent six hours at the convention center.

Kenzie, Survivor 46, 2024.

For the next few days, I go “uuuugh” aloud when I recall the things I said at the audition. I certainly will not be receiving a call-back from producers based on my performance, but I experienced some personal growth! I think I’m an open book, that I am outgoing enough to converse comfortably with strangers, and that I can advocate for myself. These are things I’d need to succeed in the reality television space. But in a matter of hours, I demonstrated my inability to set boundaries with the Peacoat Lady AND in a moment’s notice, I could not browse through the library of my mind to find something compelling to say on camera.

I certainly have some things to work on until next year’s audition season. Maybe then I’ll be prepared, or maybe not! Either way, I Had Fun.

I auditioned on 4/4/2024 and 142A was my number. Felt like a sign. Probably not tho.