by Andrea Martinez
Daily Lobo
After hearing last week a "The Real World" casting call was being held in Albuquerque, my curiosity was provoked. MTV isn't my favorite channel - the more I watch it these days, the older I feel - but something inside me said, "Andrea, if you don't try this, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
Maybe it wasn't that compelling, but I had a big empty time slot in my Saturday afternoon, and I figured I'd give it a try. A few friends and I showed up at Sauce and Raw with a whole lot of nerves.
We filled out our eight-page applications, answered questions about our goals and aspirations, and ultimately were asked to sign away our basic human rights to the producers of the show. I dotted the "I" in my last name with a heart.
After revealing way too much about my life on paper, I sat in a line that wasn't very long, but also never seemed to move. After a couple of hours, someone who looked like they could have worked for MTV - tight shirt, cool dorky glasses, spiked hair - emerged from the back room.
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Suddenly the room fell silent. Punks, hookers and Sauce and Raw workers - none of them said a word. Ten of us were invited to a group of chairs. At the head of them all sat a calm casting director. For the next 15 minutes we were asked questions that would have caught the average citizen off guard.
"Talk about the biggest misconception people have about you," or "Why are you unique?" and "What do you look for in a significant other?"
Everyone in the group had an answer, and I offered my own clichÇd perspectives.
When we finished, everyone got up to leave. As I went for the door the director motioned for my attention. She told me to go to the back room, where I received an even larger packet of information to fill out.
I asked myself if I really wanted to do this, but before I could answer the question, Cool Glasses Man walked right into me, asking for a Polaroid snapshot.
An hour later, I finally completed every question ever posed by mankind. I was told if they liked me, they'd call. Typical.
Later that night, I was ready to forget the whole experience when my phone rang. It was a guy with a hip name calling from "The Real World" casting, asking me for a second interview on Sunday. I agreed but began to get nervous.
By then, my friends caught wind of my circumstance and adopted new names for me such as, "Ms. Real World" and asked me questions such as, "So what kind of girl are you going to be - the bitchy Latina?" Not funny.
Sunday afternoon I walked into the Hotel Blue awaiting my judgment. I could tell the competition was more stiff this time because the people waiting in the lobby were extra beautiful. I sunk in my chair and braced myself for what might happen next. After some nervous chatter with the people downstairs, I was called into a room.
In an intense grilling session that lasted over an hour and was all caught on tape, I was asked some of the most invasive and thought-provoking questions ever. Somehow I contradicted every sentence, but judging by the recent presidential debates, I think that's how things go when you're on film.
At times, I could feel my eyes swell with tears and my throat tighten up as I struggled to answer.
"This is ridiculous," I thought. "Why am I crying?"
But before I could make the dramatic, "This interview is over" statement, the director smiled.
"And that's a wrap," she said.
I felt used and abused and had shared more with this woman than I had with my own mother. It was like going to the OB-GYN and psychiatrist all in one trip.
Was it worth it?
I'm not sure. My next assignment is to make a home video and send it in by the end of the week. Then I wait for a call.
Would I ever consider doing it again?
Why not? I have nothing better to do on Saturdays.
