I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends by Courtney Robertson

is a twelve-hour audition meant to whittle down the potential dates for The Bachelor to about thirty women. But it’s also an important test to see who can make it through the intense interview process without cracking, crying, or showing their true (ugly) colors. They shuttle you to various conference and hotel rooms for different parts of the audition. Not once during the entire day did I see another contestant. From the very start, producers want you laser-beam focused on the show. There are absolutely no distractions.
    The first leg of the marathon day was a 150-question personality test. After the personality test, which I decided to answer as honestly as possible—as opposed to answering strategically, or what I thought they might want me to answer—I was taken to the show’s resident psychologist. I didn’t know this at the time, but the curly-haired shrink from Beverly Hills travels with the show and is a permanent fixture on set. I guess she must have thought I was one of the crazy people because she looked over my personality test then peppered me with questions about my drinking habits, asking if I thought I had a problem and if I’d ever had a fight after a night of boozing.
    After seeing the psychologist, I shot my very first “scene” on-camera. Now, while most girls may have agonized over their outfit for this monumental occasion, I simply wore jeans and a white T-shirt, a little eyeliner, and threw in my weave. I knew it was going to be a long day so comfort was king. After getting miked up, I was led into a hotel room filled with candles, blue lighting, knickknacks, and a chintzy Chinese wall divider.
    I was asked two questions by a lone producer:
1.Will you tell us a little bit about yourself?
2.Who do you want to be the next Bachelor?
    I gave a spiel about how I hoped it was Ben because he was a nice, normal guy and I liked his hair because I’d dated some bald eagles (Chris and Cavan). I said he likes wine and I like wine so I think we’d be good together.
    “Okay, you’re done!” the producer announced. I was shocked it was over so quickly, until he led me through a door into the next room, where—surprise!—the producers were crammed around a big, U-shaped conference table and had just watched my Academy Award—winning performance on closed circuit. Up until this point, I hadn’t really been taking it all that seriously. But now I was in it. And I was terrified.
    It would have been understandable for anyone in that intimidating situation to start shaking or sweating profusely, or maybe even faint, but my modeling auditions had prepared me for this exact moment. I did my signature double-handed wave and scanned the room, making eye contact with as many people as possible without looking like a phony politician. I sat in a chair in front of the table and was promptly drilled with questions.
“Where are you from?”
“Where do you live?”
“Who have you modeled for?”
“Who do you want to be the Bachelor?”
    I told them I was only interested in Ben and if it was going to be any of the other guys from Ashley’s season, like Ryan Park or Ames Brown, I wasn’t interested.
    “What’s your personality like?”
    After I answered that I thought I was funny and liked making people laugh, I looked to a handsome producer sitting against the wall for a scintilla of support. But he went in for the kill.
    “Oh, really? You’re funny?” he mocked. “Tell us a joke.” I didn’t flinch.
    “How do you make a handkerchief dance? Put a little boogie in it!” I said, shimmying.
    The room totally cracked up and I looked back to the handsome producer. He gave me a private little smile. During the rest of the Q&A, I tried to charm as many producers as possible, asking them questions about themselves and making jokes like “Know any single guys?” before I was ushered out, again doing my signature double-handed wave.
    I thought I killed, but back in my lonely hotel room I was only rewarded with