I planned to arrive early at Von Canon B to take the pre-test for Jeopardy!—wait patiently in line with almanac in hand. I figured if I were the first in line, I’d automatically qualify for the show. I ended up being wrong on both accounts.
I was not the first in line—not even close, since I woke up mere minutes before testing began.
Incidentally, the first person in line was a 17-year-old freshman, who had arrived at 9:10 a.m. He waited at the front of the line for about an hour and a half before the Jeopardy! crew put up a sign that said students had to be at least 18 years old to participate. His Jeopardy! dreams wouldn’t be realized either—at least not for another year.
I rushed over to the Bryan Center, cut the line—probably infuriating the people I passed—and settled down for just a minute before The Crew began giving out wristbands. I must say, they were nowhere near as thorough as K-ville line monitors.
I approached the table and had a choice between the pink quiz and the yellow quiz. I chose the yellow one because the boy that just got up before me had passed that test.
I finished the quiz, and the man with the clipboard collected my paper.
“Sorry, not enough. Thanks for coming out,” he said with faux empathy.
Meanwhile, the guy sitting next to me—the one who took the white test—was invited back. I should have known.
My Jeopardy! dreams were shattered. For someone who created a facebook group devoted to the Brain Bus’ visit to Duke, I felt like a royal disappointment to myself, my group. But I refused to take it. Sure, I failed, but I wouldn’t let myself be defeated.
So, I decided to take the test again.
And this time, I tried to cheat.
After returning from the pre-test, I immediately Googled for the answers I didn’t know and asked other people what their tests were like, noting what Easter egg pastel color their sheets were. I filed away as much of this information in my mind as I could and was ready to take on the Clue Crew once again. This meant war.
As I approached the Bryan Center with a couple of my friends, who had also taken the test before, a twinge of guilt entered my mind. (I hear they call this a conscience.) Goaded by my peers, I went down to the bottom level, received my wristband and took a seat. My friend was blatantly called out for taking the test again—I got nervous.
“Do you need a test?”
I nodded my head, avoiding eye contact with the man that graded my first test. I stared down at the white paper.
White. Who had the white test? Do I know the answers to the white test? Ah, I think Schwab had this test. Yes, he did.
I filled out my test, confidently. Cheaters never win, they say. I was about to prove them wrong. Or so I thought.
He collected my paper, examined it against his convenient answer sheet. I held my breath.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You were really close, but not quite enough. Thanks for coming out.”
Ah, more canned emotions. I failed again—and that’s sad. I hung my head as I walked out of Von Canon for the second time that day, a loser.
The answer: This person tried to cheat by finding out the answers to as many questions as possible so that she could say she made it to the second round (she knew she would never get further than that), and still didn’t make it.
“Who is...Sarah Kwak?” Correct.
Maybe next week, I’ll try out for the Apprentice. I hear Martha Stewart doesn’t really look down on cheating.
Sarah Kwak is a Trinity junior and managing editor of The Chronicle.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.