At 8:00 am, an Apprentice staff member began affixing plastic identification bracelets to the applicants' wrists. I acted bent out of shape.
"Bracelets without diamonds? I certainly expected more from Mr. Trump." The staff member was not amused.
Then a Universal Studios employee announced: "Anyone who moves outside the rope can be arrested for trespassing. We can't have people visiting a theme park without paying for a ticket."
"Yeah," I leaned towards her. "We wouldn't want hundreds of people in business suits making a mad dash for the 'Revenge of the Mummy' ride."
I was finally permitted to enter the audition room and noticed Jay Leno taping a "Jaywalking" segment for The Tonight Show. Inside Edition, TV Guide and other members of the press were positioning their cameras and microphones.
Two representatives from the casting company interviewed the eight applicants at each table; there were five tables in the room. We were asked our age. The casting reps seemed displeased with my answer: "45," yet thrilled with the answer given by the 24-year-old to my left.
We were asked to debate whether a company should have a policy against dating in the workplace, then whether bosses should dictate the smoking habits of employees outside of business hours.
No one looked at my resume. All attention was on the youngsters at the table. I felt like I had wandered into a casting call for an inge'nue. I figured the Everyman curtain had fallen on the 58-year-old teacher from Lancaster and the other "over-40's" in the room.
My group interview ended. I left the table to find 32-year-old Australian business analyst Gavin Hadwen who claimed he too was trampled by the Trump cattle call.
He said, "It seemed to me that if you were over 30, you had less of a shot."
I told him, "There have been a number of Apprentice contestants in their thirties. But forties is a different story altogether."
Trump randomly wandered from table to table, observing interviews. Periodically he would whisper to a casting rep, who then discreetly initialed a particular applicant's paperwork. This surely meant the individual had advanced past the first hurdle and would be asked to return for the second round.
The show's casting producer Scott Salyers says his primary job is to find someone who can run Trump's business. On the other hand, the show survives from ratings, which arguably increase when the young and beautiful are cast. If viewers want to see an older Everyman, they could demand change with the click of the remote control.
The morning was successful for some. Diana handed Trump her "invention" envelope, and the former Miss Yugoslavia received the all-important tiny initial on her application. Maybe we will see her next season.
As I prepared to leave, I overheard Trump say, "I am looking for smart people. I am always looking for smart people." He mentioned two applicants he had met that day with more than one academic degree.
It was my chance to reveal something about my severely neglected resume. I held my head high, marched over to the billionaire and stated, "Mr. Trump, I have five degrees."
"Bracelets without diamonds? I certainly expected more from Mr. Trump." The staff member was not amused.
Then a Universal Studios employee announced: "Anyone who moves outside the rope can be arrested for trespassing. We can't have people visiting a theme park without paying for a ticket."
"Yeah," I leaned towards her. "We wouldn't want hundreds of people in business suits making a mad dash for the 'Revenge of the Mummy' ride."
Two representatives from the casting company interviewed the eight applicants at each table; there were five tables in the room. We were asked our age. The casting reps seemed displeased with my answer: "45," yet thrilled with the answer given by the 24-year-old to my left.
We were asked to debate whether a company should have a policy against dating in the workplace, then whether bosses should dictate the smoking habits of employees outside of business hours.
No one looked at my resume. All attention was on the youngsters at the table. I felt like I had wandered into a casting call for an inge'nue. I figured the Everyman curtain had fallen on the 58-year-old teacher from Lancaster and the other "over-40's" in the room.
My group interview ended. I left the table to find 32-year-old Australian business analyst Gavin Hadwen who claimed he too was trampled by the Trump cattle call.
He said, "It seemed to me that if you were over 30, you had less of a shot."
I told him, "There have been a number of Apprentice contestants in their thirties. But forties is a different story altogether."
Trump randomly wandered from table to table, observing interviews. Periodically he would whisper to a casting rep, who then discreetly initialed a particular applicant's paperwork. This surely meant the individual had advanced past the first hurdle and would be asked to return for the second round.
The show's casting producer Scott Salyers says his primary job is to find someone who can run Trump's business. On the other hand, the show survives from ratings, which arguably increase when the young and beautiful are cast. If viewers want to see an older Everyman, they could demand change with the click of the remote control.
The morning was successful for some. Diana handed Trump her "invention" envelope, and the former Miss Yugoslavia received the all-important tiny initial on her application. Maybe we will see her next season.
As I prepared to leave, I overheard Trump say, "I am looking for smart people. I am always looking for smart people." He mentioned two applicants he had met that day with more than one academic degree.
It was my chance to reveal something about my severely neglected resume. I held my head high, marched over to the billionaire and stated, "Mr. Trump, I have five degrees."
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