Pulled this out of the vaults. Enjoy.....
Auditioning the Apprentice
I admit it, I waited in line with about one hundred other ambitious people,
and tried out for Donald Trump's new reality series: The Apprentice. It's
not like I'm a big fan of the show, or that I've even seen it.
I auditioned
equipped with only the aforementioned facts and my roommate's insistence
that I would be wasting my time if I went.
"Lindsey, they don't take waitresses" He had said.
"But I have a degree."
"Degrees from UH don't mean shit. Especially when they're not in
Business."
His little pep talks never failed to chafe my ego, but this one really made
me wonder. Though, I had long ago accepted that my Bachelors in American
Studies and Communications couldn't get me a job, I was not prepared for the
thought that it might not even be enough for a reality show. What a scary
thought. I guess a degree from an institution under constant danger of
losing it’s accreditation doesn't inspire much respect from anyone.
Still, my aspiring actress friend Synna had committed to hit every audition
to roll through Honolulu and I was her standing date. The next morning, she
called me twice before I finally got out of bed. It's not like I had
anything better to do. I printed up a copy of my "professional" resume,
pulled out an old picture and waited for Synna to arrive.
We got to the Hawai'i Prince Hotel at 9:30am and were both greatly
impressed by the size of the line. There were about fifty people milling
around on the sidewalk in front of us. Apparently a lot of people did not
trust their UH degrees.
I had figured that I would be the lone victim of the Gap in a sea of
tailored suits, but that was a misjudgment. Most people were dressed pretty
casually, some even in surf shorts and T's.
One lady was dressed in a wedding gown that had a metal chain in place of a
back strap. She was stout with long bleached blonde hair, I remembered her
from the recent "Hawai'i" casting call. At that call, the woman had been
wearing black booty shorts and a black leather bikini top with what might
have been the same back-chain.
"At least she has some clothes on this time," Synna remarked. "Do you
think she just goes to all of these things no matter what?"
Hmmmm.
We sat on the sidewalk next to the channel eight camera guy and I filled
out my apprentice application while Synna gave the newsman an interview. I
answered questions like, "Tell us about your most embarrassing experience,"
and Synna answered questions like, "What makes you qualified to be the next
apprentice?"
One thing's for sure, I racked up many embarrassing experiences on my quest
to get a degree from UH. I wondered what all those Harvard and Columbia
guys had to say to that one. I wrote: My most embarrassing experience
involved a rest stop in Wyoming, projectile vomit and two busloads of second
graders. Take that.
Shortly thereafter, a woman arrived and gave us both wristbands imprinted
with our individual numbers and the name of the show. Synna asked, "What's
your number?"
"Forty-eight."
"I'm Forty-seven." She said. "Forty-seven and forty-eight. Those are our
lucky numbers."
"Wait. Forty-eight, that number means something to me." My mind, still
slow from lack of coffee, took a few seconds to make the connection. "It's
my server number at work."
Synna and I waited for our group interview for about two hours, during
which time we made five trips to the bathroom and one to McDonald's. In
line, we saw a former Miss Hawai'i and a member of local girl group, Forte.
I wondered if, Synna, the Biker Bride and I aren't the only ones who attend
auditions sans discrimination.
We also met a curious woman who ended up being in our interview group of
eight. Her name was Maria. She told us that she was a victim's rights
advocate and she had been at Starbuck's reading the paper when she saw an ad
for the audition and decided to come out.
"If I had known I was going to be doing this I would have gotten dressed
and made my face." She said in her Boston accent. "I figured I had to
come, though. I've been to a few of these and I always make it."
I liked her fiery personality and asked after her previous auditions.
"I went to this playboy one about twenty years ago and got it, I also got
one to be on a national talk show. ‘ Synna and I were both duly impressed.
We were still chatting when they called us in.
The interview room was a
converted meeting room. There was a large rectangular table in the middle
of the room. We arranged ourselves around a guy in his early thirties. He
was dressed in what I like to call "production cool." He was wearing khaki
shorts, tennis shoes and a plaid shirt. His curly brown hair was messy and
appeared about four months shy of a trim. The look was completed with the
standard black rimmed geek glasses. He pulled it off well, and struck me as
really cute in a backyard barbecue kind of way. There was a female member
of the production staff who sat silently behind him, observing the
proceedings.
"Alooha!" He exclaimed.
Of course.
"Alooha!" We all said.
"I'm Tom and I'd like to welcome you to our Honolulu audition. We're going
to have a very informal meeting today. Let's just have a nice interesting
conversation." He continued, "I would like to get started by having you all
introduce yourselves and tell us all little about yourselves."
Synna and I sat next to each other at one end of the table and Maria sat
at the other end. There were two men in the group: the tall blonde guy, was
a used car salesman and the other a mainland born self-described, "first
generation Filipino" had some kind of business degree. There were six women
including myself, Maria and Synna. The other three all had similar business
degrees and were working at various hotels around the island.
After the initial introductions, Tom asked the first question. "You all
live here, right? So tell me, what's different about business here from the
mainland. Is it easier or harder to do business here?"
Immediately, the business degrees began throwing out emphatic replies.
"The government here is totally corrupt!" One of the women exclaimed. She
was of mixed Asian descent, probably in her mid twenties. "When people with
money try to come into Hawai'i to do business, they always have a really
hard time getting anything done."
"It's a lot harder to run a business here." Said the used car dealer.
"Why do you think that is?" Tom asked.
"Well," the dealer started, "There are a whole slew of regulations that
effectively strangle small businesses."
"How so?" Tom asked.
"Well, they have taxes on top of taxes here." He said. "There's a 4%
sales tax on everything: food, insurance, even rent. On top of that,
Hawai'i has one of, if not the lowest, property tax rates in the nation.
Because of that, it is really hard for young people to get land here. Those
who do have land are not willing to give it up."
"That's right!" Said another one of the female business degrees. She was
young, pretty and from the mainland. I figured from the beginning of this
interview that she would probably wax sympathetic to big business. She
looked like the corporate type, and she was. "I work out on the Waianae
coast with this really great guy. He's got a multi-million dollar hotel
that has proven its worth to the community, but when he wants to expand, he
always has difficulties getting permits and stuff--it's like the people
don't want to develop the land."
Throughout this, I sat silent on my side of the table. I figured that
Trump's people would not really be interested in my views. I never can
quite bring myself to understand how people in business can pretend that it
is as simple as that. Business to me is about the use of the masses to make
a few people rich, and I love the fact that locals see that. Why should
they develop land that they now enjoy? So they can make minimum wage at the
new hotel?
No, they wouldn't want to hear my liberal beliefs that the people we should
worry about are the ones who really make a business go around. The real
little guy. He's the one who works 19 hours a week, because at twenty his
employer has to spend money to provide him with insurance. This guy does
the minutia, the dirty work, and does it with a smile, for six bucks an
hour. What about that guy? What about the regulations that strangle those
people?
As in life, the real issues never came out, instead the interview
degenerated into a racial discussion. Unfortunately it was one of my
comments that sparked this. When Tom asked how service in Hawai’i compared
to that of the mainland, the room became a chorus praising Hawai'i's “Aloha
Service.”
“I beg to differ,” I said. “I just got back from a trip to the states and
every time there was more than one person in line at the checkout, they
opened another one.” They rarely do this in Hawaii.
"Well," Said one of the local female business degrees, "I don't mean to
sound racist, but I think that's just because you are white. When I was on
the mainland people were so mean to me."
Color me politically incorrect, but I thought race was one of those
untouchable interview topics if you actually wanted to get the job.
"No, I really don't think that's it," I said. I didn't bother to tell her
that I took this trip with my mother whose main goal on vacation is finding
every ghetto and reservation in her path.
Then Maria interjected, "I feel like a nigger here."
(2026 update I am sorry if this offends people but this is what was said and I believe the truth is imperative here.)
I just sat there stunned. It felt as if the clock had missed a tick.
Then she said, "they treat white people like they are niggers in the south.
I've been spit at, swore at--and the courts here make me sick."
Once.
Twice.
I was pretty sure Maria wouldn't be adding this to her list
of successful auditions.
The last question Tom asked was predictable, but I was unable to answer it.
He asked, "Why do you think you would make a good apprentice?"
Every one of the business degrees took this as the question of a lifetime.
I was silent. I couldn't think of one reason why I would make Mr. Trump a
good apprentice, or even wanted to.
I seriously doubted that anyone of this group of people would find
themselves in Trump's conference room anytime soon.
In the end, however, I
do not think Synna or I will either. Oh well, at least I won't have to hear
those dreaded words, "you're fired."
