Three guys stood in front of the makeshift set as a hyperactive duo served as their Trebeks. The woman, whose name was Maggie, looked like a cross betwen Debbie Harry and a soccer mom; she also acted as though she had eaten amphetamines with her Tang at breakfast. Every other "answer" or so that was announced, she broke into song. Loud song. "Hooray for Hollywood," she'd screech to her male companion. His name was Greg, and he looked about thirty-five or so; his smooth voice sounded as though it had failed many, many infomercial auditions. The two of them hopped around with the energy of three-year-olds, shouting phrases like "This... is... JEOPARDY!" and "Come and get your BOUN-teeee!" Although the latter phrase sounded like a bad come-on, the "bounty" available from Maggie and Greg consisted of water bottles, frisbees, and t-shirts. In other words, it was promotional crap. I decided to go for the big time -- the opportunity to try out for the show and maybe win real money.

I sat at a table where a woman handed me a form. "Put your name on the top and answer as many of these ten questions as you can," she instructed. Since she hadn't told me if I needed to phrase my answer in the form of a question, I did so anyway. The answers were simpler than I'd expected (Smashing Pumpkins, New Guinea, Agatha Christie), and I finished the test quickly. The woman quickly corrected the test and then asked me if I was free at noon to go on to the next round. Hot damn, I was on my way.

At noon, about fifty other applicants and I walked into a conference room. We were told to grab a white answer sheet and a pink interview form before taking a seat in the front row. A man babbled about Jeopardy and its many marvels, and then he popped in a video of Trebek. I watched as Alex told us that we would have eight seconds each to answer fifty questions, and that he just might see us in the future. Quel fromage.

Next: The test... and its results