Dom Kureen returns. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
“Now get down on all fours and bark like a dog!”
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, as the middle-aged father of two scuttled along a sports hall floor in order to get onto the BBC3 show Total Wipeout. This was where I had to draw the line.
Application lacking
I’d staggered along to these auditions at little notice and with no expectations. My application form was a farce filled with urine extracting bravado, I wasn’t the person it painted me as because in truth if that person existed they’d either have been locked away in a secure unit or stoned to death by now.
Still, my ridiculous hyperbole and nonsensical statements had impressed production company Endemol sufficiently for them to grant me an audition in a Kensington College sports centre.
As soon as I set foot through the doors and into the company of my fellow auditionees I realised why.
A bunch of t(w)its
Grown men dressed in nappies, teenagers clad head to toe in Lycra and a woman wearing a sumo suit with “T.W” shaved into the side of her hair – welcome to the asylum.
I watched people performing star jumps, singing random songs and generally trying to exhibit a false persona so that they could bluff their way towards thirty seconds of fame.
I inched forward and noticed that all of the people in charge of the auditions were 20-something blonde women who apparently specialised in humbling desperados they’d just met.
Time to shine
I was next up; “Dance like you’re in a nightclub,” a tangerine skinned ogre demanded, so I jived like an attention seeking hipster for her entertainment. “Run on the spot” she barked, so I ran on the spot. “Now sing Bohemian Rhapsody.” Hey, don’t judge me, I was here to get a place on a TV show and was sure that this would be the most demeaning part of the process (it wasn’t, more on that later.)
Some of us were sent one way, a smaller group was sent another. We never saw them again. Our next task was to sell ourselves for one minute to a guy dressed as God and a rotund woman who looked like she’d been dragged out of a local AA meeting and crammed into a dress three sizes too small.
Selling to the lowest bidder
Pasty skin spilled out of every slit in her tacky clothing, as I tried to extol the virtues of my presence on the show; something that I achieved with consummate ease.
”Now tell me what your shout out for the show is” the odious creature insisted, with the manners and grace of a Yorkshire Terrier humping a stranger’s leg.
Oh no, I hadn’t planned anything and under this kind of scrutiny my imagination was drawing a blank: “How’d you like them apples?” I blurted out with the conviction of a moribund tapeworm.
She looked confused, I felt like my time was up as I was told to go into another room. What’s this? You’re keeping me in? Jeez Louise. Onto the third stage I went in slight disbelief.
Only the foolish survived
The group seemed to have halved in size since the start of the auditions as we filled in some forms and then headed for the obstacle course. I sailed through this part, leaving a man smeared with blue paint trailing in my dust.
The dude in the diaper also departed, not before proffering a slew of swear words though. This probably wasn’t his proudest day, then again a man with an overhanging belly who wears a nappy in public might just see any day that doesn’t involve him desecrating the bed sheets as a triumph.
Peroxide poison
By round four about 50-60 people remained by my estimation. It was another chance for the recently absent blonde 20-somethings to flex their sadistic sides.
“Get down on your knees and beg to be on the show!” One woman was instructed. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and then, just as it seemed we’d lurched towards the bottom of a boundless, bilious pit, the whole thing descended to depths that I wish I hadn’t witnessed.
Bark like a dog!
“Come on doggy, eat your food, it’s in my hand” a kindly man who I’d been chatting to earlier was ordered, to which he complied without hesitation. “Now get down on all fours and bark like a dog!”
He was desperate to reach the final and must have felt that he’d gone the extra mile by now, but there was more to come – “I’m your owner, I’m taking you for a walk, follow me and stick your tongue out to show your excitement.”
This crimson-faced fellow being mocked so far beyond the boundaries of acceptability was my epiphany. He wanted this enough to be totally humbled, demeaned and ridiculed by some jumped up tart, who was caked in enough makeup to open her own boutique.
Time to walk away
I didn’t have the same desire to stick it out. I got to the front and they told me to sing “I’m a little teapot”, my mindset had altered considerably during the day and I declined the request. In truth I didn’t know all of the words, but for the sake of the story I refused because pride kicked in.
Suddenly I was Rosa Parks standing up for my people and she was the man demanding my seat on the bus. I was ready to fight for the pride of not only myself, but for the group as a whole.
The band of brothers (and sisters) that we’d become meant that our bond could not be broken! My rebuttal inevitably spelled the end, as I was taken away, along with several others.
Pride before a fall
I waited for the deluge of allies to join me later, to unite against the common enemy… But they didn’t. They were the final 20, I was just one of the best-placed losers. Pride had come before a fall, but I realised that I didn’t really want this as much as I thought I would have.
When the finish line was in sight I knew that there were others who were willing to do whatever it took to get there, they deserved the place, not me. I was informed that I’d be put onto a reserve list and if some people pull out I might be selected to go to Argentina for filming, though that seemed more like fluff talk than anything tangible.
Disillusionment
An audition process designed to inflate the egos of executives and put those who apply in their place. The way they preyed upon the desire of those who had invested so much into being a part of the show left me disillusioned.
There didn’t seem to be any reason for it, other than to satiate power hungry programme bigwigs and emphasise some sort of metaphorical divide between those who run the show and those who want to be a part of it.
Sadly self-disparagement appears to be en vogue right now and this is probably merely the tip of a crooked iceberg.
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Image: tanenhaus under CC BY 2.0
