I tried out for "Millionaire" in Los Angeles in August 2001, and can report that the experience was surprisingly similar to srkorn's, right down to all the questions about that mysterious pool, although this being L.A., someone in the line asked no one in particular, "Do you know if they're casting for the whole season?"
However, thanks to my career in closed captioning, I knew what kind of business Jamie's aunt and uncle run on "The Jamie Foxx Show" (a hotel), and I can therefore provide the rest of the story.
Part Six: After the Aftermath
After everyone else has departed the Hilton ballroom, the 20-something girl congratulates the 30 or so of us who passed the test and then tells us to get up because we're walking to a meeting room on the second floor of the hotel. We all walk in a single file out of the ballroom, around the corner, past the hotel restaurant where lunch diners stare at the procession, up the stairs, down the hall, and finally arrive at a small room containing 30 or so chairs.
Part Seven: I'm Quirky, I Swear
Two perky people pass out 2-page forms for us to fill out with the pens we were given earlier and start going around the room with Polaroid cameras taking pictures of us. The forms start off easy, asking for name, address, nearest major airport to our home, and so on, but the second page is like a college application, with 10 questions, of which we're supposed to answer 3. "What would Regis find most fascinating about you?" and nine others. I eventually pick three that require me to write that I've always wanted to be a baseball scoreboard operator, and that if I won the $1 million, I'd go right out and buy a pinball machine.
They get around to taking my picture while I'm in the middle of one of the essays, so I have an annoyed expression in the photograph. Meanwhile, the man sitting next to me is actually having trouble with the "major airport" question, mainly because it asks for a city, and the airport he lives closest to is John Wayne Orange County International Airport. He asks me what city he should write down, and I tell him Santa Ana.
Part Eight: The Waiting Game
At last, we finish our forms, and we are again lined up. This time, we're led into another hallway outside some even smaller meeting rooms, and told that we'll be individually interviewed by actual contestant coordinators from the show. (All these perky people, it turns out, have been a mix of production assistants and interns from KABC, so we didn't have to be nice to any of them after all.)
As we wait outside the room, three potential contestants in front of me are talking:
Man #1: Yeah, I was a 5-time champion on "Jeopardy!" in 1990. (Back in those days, I watched "Jeopardy!" every night, and he does look vaguely familiar.)
Man #2: I was on in '96, but I was only a 3-timer.
Woman: I've only been on this Game Show Network show called "Inquizition."
They're not talking to me, so I don't get a chance to tell them that my entire live game show experience consists of having been in the audience for "Illinois Instant Riches" in Chicago in 1996.
Part Nine: 60 Seconds of Sheer Terror
Eventually, my time comes, and I walk into the tiny room, where a man and a woman are sitting at a table. I hand the man the form and my Polaroid. He reads the form quickly.
The first thing he asks me about is the fact that I've listed my job as "closed captioner." I tell him the company I work for does captioning for all the networks, as well as various syndicated shows. Fortunately, he doesn't ask specifically about "Millionaire," which the company captions, but I, personally, don't. (From reading the official rules on the ABC web site, I am under the impression that I'm fully eligible to appear on the show, but I want the final decision made by Disney lawyers, not the contestant coordinators.)
He then asks me about wanting to be a scoreboard operator. I manage to stammer out something about enjoying pushing buttons.
The minute or so seems more like a year or so. Eventually, I escape from their steely gaze, and am free to go. Outside the hotel at noon, the line for the 2:00 P.M. tryout looks much longer than the line for the 9:00 A.M. tryout did when I had arrived at 7:50 A.M.
Part Ten: The Waiting Game (Part 2)
After about six weeks, I decide the postcard isn't going to show up, and I resign myself to life without an extra $1 million. I should have told that guy the Orange County airport was in San Juan Capistrano, I guess.