I Don't Watch Jeopardy No 'Mo
I Don't Mess with Jeopardy no mo'. In my mother's house, trivia games, quizzes, and books were the norm. Not that she was programming us to be intellectual robots, but simply because it was fun and educational. The Sunday morning Sun-Times sports quiz (I only cheated to win the one time!), playing ‘Go to the Head of the Class,’ and of course, ‘Jeopardy.’
My mother would record the week's shows on the VCR (Google it if you don't know what a VCR was!), and after breakfast we would watch the shows, competing with each other, and learning in the process. I always felt 'Jeopardy’ was the least culturally biased quiz show, as compared to ‘Family Feud.’ For real. If you asked one hundred Black people the same question you'd ask White people, the answers would be vastly different. “Name something you get at a department store?” Number one answer by Black people? Followed. Lol.
Anyway, ‘Jeopardy’ was always our favorite show, and we dreamt of one day being contestants, giving our answers confidently under the lights, attempting to wipe the smug grin from Alex Trebek's countenance. It always tickled me how pissed off he would get when none of the players gave the correct response to anything about Canada. I recognize he's a pretty smart guy, but I often wondered how he would fare as a contestant?
A few years ago, I was coaxed into attending the annual Black Women's Expo here in Chicago. The dangling carrot used to convince me to attend was the ‘Jeopardy’ test would be given, and those who passed would eventually be on the show. This was my chance to one-up my brother Brian and make it onto the show, where I knew I would do well, unless the Final Jeopardy question was about opera. The answer is never ‘Carmen.’
I signed up for the test, but there were so many people, they had to administer the test in two sessions, with about 250 people in each. I was told to come back for the second session. No problem. I walked around the Expo, checking out the exhibits and the wares for sale. It was interesting and fun, but I was ready for my date with Destiny, so I didn't enjoy it as much as I should have.
When I reported for the test, I saw one familiar face, Ms. Rogers, a chemistry teacher from my high school. That's when I realized the caliber of my competition. This wouldn't be a cake walk by any means. Except…it was. With pencil in hand, I aced the test. The answer appeared on the screen for 6 seconds, and the question had to be written out. I think I may have missed one.
Afterwards, the hosts said the results from both sessions would be posted within a half an hour, and to come back and check. I took the picture of my name on the board and sent it to my Mama. You betcha. I filled out the paperwork, had a video interview, and shook hands with the other six or so people who had passed the test. Ms. Rogers didn't make it, by the way. There was an accountant, a professor, a chemical engineer, an art dealer, a couple of other intelligent jobs, and a truck driver; me. I had made it and the sky was the limit.
I informed friends, family, and my job, and I waited. And waited. And waited some more. Two or three of the other people appeared on the show, one of them even winning. But they never called me. My mother wrote letters and inquiries, but after eighteen months, they expel your name from the database.
Yeah, I took it personal, but I take everything personal. Lol. Since then, even though my mother implores me to try again, I haven't and I probably won't. My world has moved on, and I have loftier goals, but I did qualify for the show. For real. How many people do you know who qualified for ‘Jeopardy?’ Not many I expect, if any.
Since the experience, I've written books, articles, and have ventured into territories I'd have never imagined before the experience of ‘Jeopardy.’ There's nothing to fear any longer, and with every accomplishment, my confidence grows. But I don't watch ‘Jeopardy' no mo’. Marlon S. Hayes is a writer, author, poet, essayist, and blogger from Chicago. A t-shirt fanatic, he's stingy and secretive about where he finds his t-shirts. Follow him at Marlon's Writings on Facebook.
