Previously in the story of money: The demand curve looked at the supply curve all, "I'll see you at the market price, you bastard!" Alan Greenspan made out with monetary policy while Andrea Mitchell was having her hair done. Every state got to think up its own shiny quarter, and a bunch of them could think of nothing more scintillating than the official State Outline. Nobody really got into two-dollar bills, even though they were kind of an awesome idea, and nobody would touch Susan B. Anthony dollars, because no one could afford to invest the free time required to ascertain that they weren't quarters. Gas cost, like, $1.45 in the morning and $1.73 in the afternoon -- what was up with that? My bank had worse customer service than several European dictatorships of the past, including some that performed beheadings. Cereal seemed far too expensive, compared to other products that are largely flour. Like, for instance, flour. Northwest Airlines took over the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport and brought with it the economic blessing of being unable to fly anywhere except Cedar Rapids for less than $300, unless you rode in the overhead compartment and forewent your pretzel twists. The Federal Reserve ran out of twenties after Alex Rodriguez visited a drive-through ATM on his way to Chuck E. Cheese. The rich got richer. The poor got poorer. The tax code thought expensive second homes were a greater social good than an advanced education. The post office would come to your house, pick up a letter, and deliver it anywhere you asked them to for 37 cents, but ordering French toast from room service four floors away required you to pay a jacked-up menu price, a delivery charge, an included gratuity, and a tip of your own if you didn't want the guy to sneeze on your pancakes. And through the wonders of eBay, everything was worth something to someone, even if it was broken.
We swoop in over water as tense music moans on the soundtrack. "Naaaaah-nah-nah-waaaaah," it says. We look up to see the skyline of Manhattan looming ahead. Several attractive aerial shots of the city follow, and then we hear the distinctive voice of one Donald Trump intone, "New York. My city." He means this literally, of course. New York is "where the wheels of the global economy never stop turning," he says, over pictures of Times Square and a bunch of people milling around, towered over by two enormously tall dudes who are apparently on vacation from their Lithuanian professional basketball team. Now that's the global economy in action. Trump calls his city "a concrete metropolis of unparalleled strength and purpose." It drives business, it never sleeps...oh, and hey! There's the Stock Exchange! That's the factory where they make heart attacks! Manhattan is "the real jungle," and Donald says that "it can chew you up and spit you out." He says this over a shot of someone sleeping on a bench, which seems a bit too literal to me. "See? If you are weak in New York, you will end up like this guy!" In cheerier news not involving sadistic mockery of the homeless, Donald points out that "if you work hard, you can really hit it big."
Okay, let me see if I have this down. Do badly, suffer consequences. Work hard, do well. Donald is going a little bit fast for me, but then, I'm from the Midwest. I'll do my best to keep up. Hold on while I get another piece of hay to chew.
As if you aren't already packing your bags for your exciting new citified life as a non-vagrant, after Donald says "you can hit it big," he says, "I mean, really big." And then they show the Statue of Liberty, so I guess if you make it big enough, that's where you get to live. I didn't even know they had apartments there. That would be cool, I think. You'd look out at all the tourists on the island and yell, "Get off my lawn!" That's what I would do, anyway. ["I'd go with water balloons, but that's me." -- Sars] , we see a limousine streaking down a Manhattan street, and when we go inside the passenger compartment, we see him. Donald Trump. Seated across from us. "My name's Donald Trump," he says, "and I'm the largest real estate developer in New York." I find it hard to believe there are no real estate developers larger than Donald Trump, since he's not really all that large. He brags that he owns a lot of buildings, and the editors obligingly show us several of them. He explains that he also owns "model agencies, the Miss Universe pageant, jetliners, golf courses, casinos, and private resorts like Mar-a-Lago, one of the most spectacular estates anywhere in the world." He neglects to add, "And, as of now, I own the sixteen bitches you are about to meet."
Lest you think he leads a charmed life, Donald goes on to explain, "It wasn't always so easy." You see, at one point, Donald was in debt. They show the national debt clock at this point, so apparently he blew all his money on entitlement programs and military doodads. But he fought back. And won, dammit! Now he's richer than ever! And happier than ever! Look, there he is with...with Don King! And nothing says "true happiness" like Don King. At least true happiness circa 1989. We even see the Trump board game along about here. ("Roll one die to see what part of Trump's anatomy you have to affix your lips to.") More shots of Donald's accomplishments...wait a minute, Trump makes spring water? Spring water with his face on it? The hell? "As the master," he says, "I want to pass along my knowledge to somebody else." I have to say, it takes a big man to call himself "the master." Most people, if they did say something like that, would be joking. Not Donald. Donald does not joke. Especially about being the master.
"I'm looking for...the apprentice!" Oh, that sounds like the lead-in for the credits, y'all. But wait, it's not! It's just the lead-in for pulsing music and additional beauty shots of New York. Donald comes right back to tell us that right now, sixteen people are converging on his world headquarters, determined to compete for the opportunity to work as underlings for the biggest overling of all. Donald says that they "come from all walks of life," by which he means "those walks of life in which all the women are hot." Some of them have advanced degrees, while others got their BS (literally) from the University of Life, yo. Some of them have never been to New York before, and upon their arrival, they will be summarily eaten. Donald gets out of his limo, as the Trumpicopter idles nearby without even mussing his do. Impressive. "This is the chance to work for me at a yooge [sic] salary," he says, "and more importantly, learn enough so that maybe they, too, can become a billionaire someday." Hey, money can't buy grammar. He assures us that being in his program will be "the dream job of a lifetime." Donald moves from his limo to his helicopter. In upcoming episodes, we will see him in the Trump Power-Assisted Rickshaw, the Trump Mechanical Elephant 6000X, and the Trump Urban Parasailer. He dramatically wonders aloud, "Who will succeed? Who will fail? Who will steal the ashtrays?" (Okay, not the last one.) "And who will be...the apprentice?" Okay, now that's gotta be credits.
And indeed it is. "Money money money mo-ney," goes the soundtrack. Ah, the O-Jays. An excellent choice. The credits are top-notch, very stylish and cool-looking. They're much hipper in feel, actually, than some parts of the show. We see all of the contestants, but I won't tell you about them now, since they're about to be introduced in a minute. I'll just say that they all kind of come off like sleazeballs, which is appropriate. And, you know, kind of accurate.
When we return from credits, it's back to Manhattan skyline shots. I'll tell you, if you love looking at New York -- which I do -- this show will at least offer you a lot of opportunities to do that. As sweet young things of all types roll up to Trump Tower in limos, Donald voices over that these people will compete against each other, but they will also -- of course -- live together in a Trump Tower suite. They'll be divided into two tribes -- er, "teams" -- and every week, they'll be confronted with a task. Whichever team loses will have to go to the Boardroom, where someone will be fired. Fired! There will be no payout of sick time, and no COBRA eligibility. And don't even think about taking the stapler.
A young, sweet-faced woman gets off an opulent elevator on what is presumably some high floor of the Trump Tower, and she runs smack into a receptionist sitting behind a high desk, right in front of giant letters reading, "THE TRUMP ORGANIZATION." Only, of course, the word "Trump" is in giant letters that dwarf everything else, including the people in the room, the building, and the city of New York. The young woman, among other things, is rolling her suitcase behind her. I think that's actually a no-no in many job-hunting guidebooks. "Do Not Bring Your Luggage." Somewhat tentatively, she approaches the receptionist. "I'm here to, uh, interview with Donald Trump," she says with a nervous smile, as if the following thought has just entered her mind for the first time: "Oh, God, this might be really stupid." Too late! The receptionist asks for her name. "Jessie Connors," she chirps. And so it begins.
Jessie is from New Richmond, Wisconsin, and she talks like it. Her intro footage shows her by a farm building with a horse or something. Is she a farmer? Because there are a few people in Wisconsin who don't make their living from agriculture. Brett Favre is the only one I can think of right now, but I'm sure there are others. She says that she only has a high school diploma, but owns a marketing firm and sells real estate. Of course, a lot of these people are going to claim to "own firms," and I'm sure that many of them legitimately do, but I would remind you that I own a business also, and it consists of me, my computer, my bank account, and -- very often -- my pajamas. "Marketing firm" is a very elastic term, so just remember that "owning a business" doesn't necessarily involve riding herd over hundreds of employees and decorating your private office with Oriental rugs. Oh, and Jessie is twenty-one. Aw, I remember when I was twenty-one. I think my main professional aspiration was poverty avoidance.
Kwame is twenty-nine. He has an MBA from the Harvard Business School, where he presumably majored in Well La-Di-Da. He's been an investment manager for a Wall Street firm. He's very cute.
Ereka [sic] is from New York City. Keep that in mind for later. She learned business at her parents' pizzeria, and now she does marketing for a cosmetics company. And she is going to her "job interview" in that classic item of professional women's attire: a tube top. I'm sure it's a very sophisticated Donna Karan Executive Tube Top, though. It probably has a pocket for your cell phone.
"Hi!" Or rather, "Haaaaah!" Wow. It's Troy, and he's from...Boise? Really? It sounds like Boise by way of Alabama, a little bit. He says, with a weirdly self-satisfied tone, that he gave up college to care for "[his] mother and [his] disabled little sister." It's all just a little too chipper for my comfort. I'm surprised he's not wearing a shirt with the sister's picture on it or something. I think he says that he's the president of his own lending company, but it might have been "linen company" or "landing company." Or "Lennon company," although I'd think that would be a rough gig these days. Or "Lenin company." Hey, ironic!
Amy is from Austin, and has decided to skip the tube top in favor of a sleeveless gold dress. She tells us that she once had "stock options worth millions," but they all went poof in the dot-com bust. Another very elastic term? "Worth." Amy has her MBA and "work[s] in the high-tech industry," whatever the hell that means. Maybe she works at Best Buy. I also want to point out that she introduces herself as "Amelia," and then the show uses a graphic that says "Amy," and for quite a while, I was writing the recap trying to figure out who was Amy and who was Amelia. That was before I figured out that they were the same person. I never claimed to be bright, which is why I'm not trying to get a job working for Donald Trump.
Now we see a guy check in with the receptionist who can't even say he's there to see Donald Trump without laughing. I feel you, dude. She asks him his name. "Bowie Hogg," he says. Oh, yeah. Bowie Hogg has arrived, people. And it's pronounced Boo-ey, too. Just like the knife. Unsurprisingly, Bowie is from Texas (he's not one of the Delaware Hoggs). He has a business degree, and he works in sales for an express delivery service. I have a feeling that without his name, Bowie would be watching from his couch, just like me.
An extremely nervous-looking woman tells us that her name is Kristi, and she's from Santa Monica. She owns a restaurant, and "investment properties." In case you haven't been following your gossip rags, she also has an appearance on Red Shoe Diaries on her résumé, and I'm thinking maybe a couple of her "investment properties" were surgically implanted.
David went to medical school in addition to business school, so now he's a nurturer-slash-weasel. He's a "health care venture capitalist." Ew. I have visions of a startup devoted to trading gall bladders on the open market.
Omarosa is dressed in a fuchsia suit, and while it's good that she's in a suit, it's not so good that every skirt she wears throughout the entire episode is barely long enough to cover her hips. She's a PhD candidate and a political consultant. Barf. "Political consultant." "Four years ago," she overenunciates, "I worked at the White House, for the Pre-si-dent of the Uni-ted States." Heh. Heh heh. Um, never mind. I think the intern jokes are pretty much over at this point. And yes, as one of the Eagle-Eyed Forum Posters pointed out, her name spelled backwards is very nearly "Ass-o-rama." That's rough.
Nick is, according to his own assessment, "the hardest-working salesman in Los Angeles, California." He sells copiers, and he's commission-only. So, as he puts it, "if I don't sell, I don't eat." That's an interesting coincidence, because if I don't have a copier, I don't collate.
Katrina is wearing a greenish-gold outfit that, while it is not a suit, is at least a dress featuring a jacket. She claims to be ranked in the top three percent of realtors nationwide. On what scale? Who's included as a "realtor"? What the hell does that mean? Who did the ranking? I protest. I can get myself ranked in the top three percent of humans nationwide, provided I get to set the parameters.
Sam is director of business development for an internet company. Eh, the internet will never last. Those crazy kids with their computers and their Napster and their sex pictures.
Heidi is from Philadelphia, and she's an account executive for a telecommunications company. She has curvy, archless eyebrows and a very shiny chin.
Bill is from Chicago, and he founded the Cigar of the Month Club in his apartment. It's now a multimillion-dollar business. That's the first thing any of these people have said by way of introduction that I've entirely understood, so he gets an extra point with me immediately. Also, he's cute, and the average cuteness of the men lags substantially behind that of the women. Hardly fair.
Jason is twenty-three, also from Detroit, and is a slumlord. Okay, not necessarily. He says he has a "real estate development firm," and explains that he rents to low-income families. You can see where I am concerned. You better be keeping those places in good repair, Jason. I don't want to read about any faulty wiring on The Smoking Gun.
Tammy is from Seattle, and she swears that she used to be a stockbroker. She rolls her suitcase off the elevator and strolls haughtily up to the receptionist. She is the last to arrive. Tammy glares at everyone, voicing over that she felt no need to communicate with the others. Everyone else seemed to be smiling or whatever, but her feeling is that the only person who needs to like her is Donald. She applies lipstick in front of the group. Always a popular opening gambit. I can't tell you how many times I've heard, "And I was so impressed with that one woman who was standing there putting her lipstick on. She seemed classy."
The people in the waiting room all eyeball each other, trying to figure out who will have his or her head the farthest up Trump's rear by the end of the first day. (They don't know it now, but it will be a photo finish.) Troy interviews that although Trump has given them all a leg up, Troy will still be out there trying to earn the American dream the old-fashioned way -- via reality television. You remember Who Wants To Be Landed Gentry?, don't you?
The receptionist tells the waiting crowd that Donald is ready for them, and they are all ushered into the Boardroom. They all sit (and stand) along one side of a long table, and facing them on the other side are Donald Trump, a very old dude with white hair, and a smart-looking woman of what I would call early middle age. The first thing Donald tells the candidates is his favorite pseudo-fact of all -- that New York City is the real jungle. He then introduces George, the white-haired old guy, who is Donald's executive vice president and senior counsel. On the other side of Donald is Carolyn, the chief operating officer of one of Donald's companies. He calls her "a killer." That's nothing. My boss calls me a piranha. "There are many men buried in [Carolyn's] wake," Donald says. Nick smiles condescendingly, because powerful women are just so darn adorable he could eat them up with a spoon. Donald explains that George and Carolyn will be watching over the candidates for him as they do their tasks. Ultimately, they'll help make the call about who should win and who should get fired. "This isn't a game," Donald says, "this is a thirteen-week job interview." Tammy looks vaguely baffled. You can almost hear drip-drip-dripping in the leaky faucet of her brain. Donald tells them all that there were 215,000 applicants, and this is the group that was chosen. So they're all winners! Except not, because fifteen of them will be losers! But anyway!
, we get to hear some Donald's somewhat disjointed thinking about strategy. He points out that while some of them think business school is how you learn, others think street smarts are all that counts. Furthermore, he says, there's an old saw that women have a harder time in the workplace than men. Ereka looks all smiley and confused like, "They do?" She doesn't have this problem, I suppose, because she worked for her parents, and then she worked in cosmetics. Donald has nothing to add about any of these matters, so I suppose it's just a stream-of-Donaldness. He announces that there will be two teams in the game, and he has decided that the best way to do it in terms of ratings -- er, "good competition" -- is to team up the women against the men. Donald tells them that each week, they'll get what he calls a "business task." It might be acting as a street vendor, doing something in marketing -- "maybe even put on a rock concert." Does anyone say "rock concert" anymore? Wasn't the last "rock concert" attended by Greg Brady, pretty much? Donald mentions an interesting twist, which is that each team will have to select a "project manager" for each task. If things go well, obviously, that person will look good. If they go badly, then that person will have some explaining to do when they get to the Boardroom. (Dun-dun-duuuuuun!) "All of you should be complimented," he says, "but the fact is, there's only one going to be chosen." He mentions again that the winner will be made president of one of his companies for a year, at that "yooge salary" he talked about earlier. He tells them to go up to the suite and enjoy themselves. Heidi leans over just a little, and she turns out to be wearing one of those dresses that doesn't look too dirty until she clasps her hands in front of her and leans over a table, at which point it is definitely not professional.
I suppose this is as good a time as any to address the issue of The Hair. Donald Trump's hair is a lot like Michael Jordan's baseball career -- it serves as a reminder that one of the curses of wealth is that when you have enough money, nobody will do you the favor of telling you when you're making an enormous ass out of yourself. Donald's hair, first of all, has stripes of color. I don't even know how one does that, but he has skunk-like bands of blond in among his generally reddish-brown hair. We're not talking about highlights, either. Bands. Stripes. Like on a flag. An ugly flag, for a country roiled by turmoil and self-hating and civil war. The hair also appears to puff up from the front of his head and sweep backwards to cover what I presume is a very bald top. It's not a traditional comb-over so much as it is a comb-back. (I have also heard the opposite theory, which is that it puffs up from the back and is tucked in somehow at the front. Could be.) And yes, I think it's real hair. I don't think even a guy like Trump would buy a toupee that looked like that. I don't think they would manufacture a toupee that looked like that. His hair is also weirdly straw-like, and looks like each individual strand would snap in half if you bent it around your finger. Which I don't recommend, because he probably wouldn't like it.
Having been introduced to their new boss, the candidates are dismissed. They file out and head for the elevator. Sam voices over that when he saw Donald, "it all came together, right there." Sam says he wants "access to Trump." He wants to get to know him. In a bar! With his girlfriend! In the bathroom! With a high-powered telescope! While hanging outside his bedroom window in an improvised sling! Sam must have access! Anti-stalking statutes? Never heard of them!
Upstairs, the candidates let themselves into Suite 4. It's very nice, in what I think is a kind of boring, obvious way. It looks like it was furnished at a store that was invented when people who worked at IKEA developed a need to get out of fiberboard and work with solid woods. There are giant, scary murals on the walls of the living room that show people reading and talking on the phone and engaging in business hubbub...it looks a little like freeze-frames from corporate anime. Completely bizarre. Inside the suite, the candidates find -- you guessed it -- champagne and caviar. It's all about the symbols of opulence, even though everyone probably would have been happier if the caviar had been replaced with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Champagne is poured, and someone proposes a toast to "the enemies," which seems to make everyone laugh uncomfortably. Ah, uncomfortable laughter. Tammy complains to Katrina that she doesn't know why they're even talking to the men, who are the enemy. Are they sure Tammy was a stockbroker in her former life? I was thinking maybe something in professional bridge-burning. In an interview, Bowie says that the girls are smarter than some of the guys were expecting, but "if you put one over on me, I'm gonna ten-times ya, I'm gonna do ya by ten times." It's quite remarkable when you realize that a guy would actually make more sense if he were speaking corporate jargon about paradigm shifts and partnering and...God forbid...thinking outside the box. [Shudder.]
Several of the women toast themselves. Elsewhere, there's a wonderful conversation between Sam, Omarosa, and David. Sam inquires about the fact that David has both his MBA and his MD, and he got the MD first. David explains that at the end of medical school, he found himself thinking, "What can I do with an MD besides treat patients?" I just love that. I can just picture David, all, "Now that I'm a doctor, how can I avoid the burdens of giving care and concentrate on accumulating dough for myself and others?" Sam interviews that he just can't relate to David, and goes on to posit that real entrepreneurs shouldn't spend that much time going to school. School, feh! He begins to bounce up and down in the interview as he explains that entrepreneurs should be "sweating," and they should be champing at the bit to go out and try things for themselves. They should be freaking out! They should be getting down! They should be shaking it like a Polaroid picture! They should be rocking you like a hurricane! Sam is easily overexcited, to say the least.
Omarosa silently reads a letter addressed to the women, and her face twists into confusion. She runs, all panicky, into the room where everyone else is hanging out and drinking, and undoubtedly makes all kinds of friends by snotting, "Ladies! Ladies, ladies, ladies! Follow me! Follow me!" Finally, they break off their conversations and come with her. Omarosa interviews that organizing is her skill. Apparently, her skill is not tact, because that was a very off-putting routine she just pulled. It was like being dragged away from a party by the house mother of a college dorm. Omarosa collects the women and reads them the letter she found, which tells them that their first task is to pick a team name, because now, they're going to be referred to as a pretend corporation. Having heard it read out loud, I cannot imagine what it was in that letter that made Omarosa make that nasty face when she opened it. "Choose a team name"? That's shocking? Whatever. I was thinking it said something like, "You will be expected to do your own laundry."
The women's effort to name their team goes less than smoothly. Omarosa wants the name to communicate power and unity. Ereka would also like it to communicate "shock." Oh, totally. I know I only buy from companies where I hear the name of the company for the first time and yell, "Holy crap! Are they kidding?" Oh, and Amy has something to add: "No idea is stupid." This is known as The Moment When You Realize Amy Has Never Watched Reality Television.
Over in the men's area, Bowie is pushing the virtues of an initial-based name, like the BMA Corporation, for Business Men Associated. Wow, catchy. I'm starting to understand how Dilbert got to be so unhappy.
Omarosa suggests the name "Donald's Darlings." No, really. Remember "no idea is stupid"? Yeah. There you go. That idea is stupid. To their credit, all of the other women cringe and wrinkle their faces like she just pooped on the floor.
The men get to talking about how versatile they all are. They can kiss Trump's right or left shoe! They can be fame-whores on network TV or on cable! Bowie comes up with "VersaCorp," which is really only a little bit more interesting than "BMA." But the men like it, and they all agree on it. Task completed, mission accomplished. Whatever. Let's have some beer. I love guys. Nick bitches in an interview that he doesn't like the name and doesn't think it will impress Donald. He calls it "corny." Yeah. Where is the gravity, people?
Ereka, meanwhile, floats another name idea with the women. "Protégé?" she says timidly. The other women go for it immediately. It sounds so French! And so girly! It's Mazda-licious! She interviews that she always goes for what she "believe[s] in." You believe in the name Protégé Corporation? You believe in it? The way people believe in disarmament, or the free market, or the Atkins Diet? You believe in the name Protégé Corporation? Oy, she is a big flake.
Later, as everyone is milling around, the phone rings. Not just any phone, mind you, but a red phone. An old-fashioned red phone with a dial and a cord and everything. It actually looks like a toy phone, which makes it easier to understand why Ereka picks it up. It's Trump's secretary, telling them to meet him tomorrow morning at the New York Stock Exchange. They apparently have to leave at 5:45 AM. Ereka interviews that she's never been to the stock exchange, and she expects it to be "overwhelming." I bet she finds revolving doors overwhelming. She says that she can't imagine what they'll be doing there. Katrina interviews that she thinks the first task will be key, and the women will win, because they're better than the men. Wow, she said a mouthful. Thanks for your input, Katrina.
The men are arguing over the dress code for tomorrow. David says that if it's in a building on Wall Street, "it would not be inappropriate to wear a tie." I think the grammar books call that the pretentious double-negative. The guys want to know if they need to wear jackets, and David says that on the floor of the exchange, you would, but he's confident that isn't where they'll be. Confident, I tell you. Nick says he doesn't know what the first task is, but the game is on for sure. Thanks, Nick!
Time-lapse takes us from sunset to sunrise in New York. The candidates leave the Tower and head for the NYSE. When they get there, Trump, who is up in the...you know, the thingy where you ring the bell...the pulpit or whatever, calls them over, so they're gazing up at him, which is just the way he likes it. There's nobody else around, presumably because it's some god-awful hour of the morning when all the regulars are still sneaking out of their mistresses' apartments and taking caffeine via intravenous drips. The men of VersaCorp did end up going with jackets and ties, and they look almost eerily matchy-matchy. Trump gives a speech about the importance of the stock market, and then he tells them that while they may be expecting something glamorous, that's not what they're getting. What they're getting today is the opportunity and obligation to sell lemonade on the street. Each team will get $250 in seed money, and then they're on their own. At 7:30 in the evening, whichever team has more money will win. The women look crazy-excited about this assignment; the guys look a little more reserved. Donald asks them to name their project managers -- the guys are going with Troy; the women are going with Ereka. They also give up the VersaCorp and Protégé nicknames. Donald makes it clear that he likes the women's name better. Ereka actually winks at Donald during this sequence. Ew. The way Trump treats the women is very telling -- he's very complimentary toward them, in a way that I think any woman who's ever worked in a field dominated by men can recognize as ultimately patronizing. He looks at these women, and you can just tell that he's not thinking in terms of ability, he's thinking in terms of fuckability. That's just how it is. Maybe with women who are older, or ugly, he's able to take them seriously, but with these women, he's obviously not. He sends the teams out onto "the killer streets of New York" (Bloomberg is thinking, "Dude, we're trying to remove the fear of crime") and he says that he'll see them later. The women are all, "Woooo!" and the men are all, "VERSACORP!" and then suddenly, the opening bell is ringing and the traders are...doing whatever it is they do that I completely don't understand, with the finger-pointing and the calling out numbers and the whatever. We see the candidates head out into the streets, and then it's time for a commercial.
When we return, white letters on a black screen tell us that, apparently, the theme of the segment is, "Location, location, location." Donald interviews that while location is important, "the people behind the deal are much more important." Should be a horse race, then, because if it's going to be about quality of personnel, I think both teams will be lucky to successfully make lemonade, let alone sell it. Donald says that he would rather have a smart guy in a bad location than a dumb guy in a great location. Troy, however, is telling the VersaCorp guys at 9:40 AM that the key to success is, indeed, "location, location, location." He delegates the task of location scouting to Kwame. Troy interviews that when Trump said on the podium that they were going back to basics, he didn't know the guy meant sixth grade. I love how some of them are consumed with disparaging this task in case they suck at it. Troy sends some guys off for cups and supplies, while Kwame returns to the group with news that they're heading for the seaport.
Over at Protégé, Ereka is having a hard time being the leader, because she is hesitant to have it involve any actual leading. She complains that the rest of the team tends to throw responsibility in her court. Isn't that what "manager" kind of means? I thought so. There is some bickering going on about whether they need a table to sell from. Tammy dismisses a table as "old-fashioned" -- and it's true, flat surfaces are so 1998. They also have issues about Ereka's role, because she feels like they told her she should lead, and now they won't listen to her, but she's not saying she wants to lead, and blah blah blah. This is a really awesome Deborah-Tannen-esque experiment, because Ereka's passive-aggressive way of denying that she wants to lead, and yet being angry that they won't let her lead, and denying that she's angry that they won't let her lead when she obviously is...it's sort of textbook pitfalls-of-women-communicating stuff, if you believe in that sort of thing. Omarosa lectures in an interview that Ereka is getting emotional, and in business, you always stay focused and never get emotional. "She's totally irrational right now!" Omarosa complains. That's true. She's not hooking into Omarosa's incredibly sensible vibe at all.
Back at Protégé headquarters (located on the sidewalk), Ereka continues complaining about the demands of her leadership role. Sigh. To her credit, Heidi points out that they're not going to get a lot done if they spend the day arguing.
More Manhattan shots, and then we land at the South Street Seaport, where Kwame explains that there will be tourists all day, and he thinks that should be the "main location." Kwame explains in an interview (he's very cute, incidentally) that they were trying very hard to get moving quickly so that they could actually start selling the lemonade. Several of the other guys are on a supply run, and Troy describes their paper-cup-fetching behavior as "the wind beneath the wings." He should cry. Guys in suits crying is always awesome. "We got our feet underneath us, and we ran with it," he says happily in an interview, as we see them buy their stuff and leave with it. Meanwhile, Kwame is talking a vendor into giving them free stuff in exchange for the expectation that the lemonade stand will bring more people around. They get free ice, free cups, and a free bicycle cart to wheel around the lemonade. Kwame brags that this was a big help in avoiding excess supply costs. Also, it gives them an excuse to ride around in the cart. Whee!
Back at Protégé Sidewalk Headquarters, it is now 10:35 AM, and still nothing is getting done. Tammy is demanding that someone tell her what the steps in the plan are. Ereka looks overwhelmed. Amy seems to be stepping forward a little, and she says that she and a couple of other worker bees will go and get the supplies, and then they'll meet up with the rest of them later. Until then? The others should be "marketing." Hee. Presumably, that means standing around on the street saying, "We're going to have some awesome powdered lemonade here on the street later once the supplies arrive -- no, wait, don't leave!" Amy and Kristi wander off to buy stuff, and Kristi interviews that they just wanted to go off and get the stuff purchased, because nothing was getting done with the whole gaggle sitting around arguing. Good point. So Kristi, in her skin-tight green satin tube top (I'm starting to think this show will need a running Tube Top Tally) held up by teeny little straps, and Amy, in her shiny button-down shirt, are off to buy supplies. The other women are wandering somewhere, as Ereka asks if they know where they're going. "You're the project manager," comes a voice from somewhere, not unfairly. "Lead." Heh.
The funky horn section brings us back to the seaport, home of the Fulton Fish Market, among other things. "We are gonna start sellin' lemonade in the ten minutes," says Troy, at what we are told is 10:45. They've mixed their Country Time up in a dented metal bucket, so that's...appealing to the eye, if you're used to drinking and mopping. And, you know, drinking what you're mopping. David is holding up a sign that can barely be read from more than five feet away because the letters are outlined instead of filled in. "Come one, Come all" it says, in tiny letters at the top that no one will ever see. "Lemonade," it says, in large but hard-to-read letters. "New York's Best!!!" it says at the bottom, with a quotation mark at the beginning but not at the end. And it has a big curlicue. Wow, that's quite a convincing sign. I haven't seen its equal since the car wash I drove by last weekend. David is holding the sign and yelling, "Lemonade!" Some of the guys do appear to sell a little to truck drivers and construction guys and whatnot, at a buck a cup. A guy who is enjoying the presence of the TV cameras quizzes David about whether the lemonade is really worth his hard-earned dollar. Troy is out hustling, but doesn't seem to be selling much. Bowie says that Troy is "keeping people positive," which is the most important thing. You know, when you're in the middle of failing miserably. Some of the guys give a halfhearted "VersaCorp!" battle cry, but their hearts are clearly not in it.
At 11:09 AM, we see (in a pretty cool shot) Amy tearing down the aisles of a store, hunting down the supplies. thing you know, they've got everything bought, and Ereka is telling them over the phone/walkie-talkie thing that they're going to meet up at 53rd and 9th. As the non-buyers walk along the street, Tammy is applying lipstick. Again. Ereka -- who, you'll recall, claimed to be from New York City -- says in an interview that she made a slight error at this point and didn't look to see which way was east and west; she just asked a stranger, who it turned out pointed her in the wrong direction. Now, I'm not claiming to be a great navigator -- in fact, I'm a little bit the opposite of that. But in Manhattan, I can figure out which way is east and which way is west. And I'm not freaking from there, like she said she was. Anyway, before she knows it, Ereka finds that she has led her crew to 53rd and Park. ["It's worth noting here that the distance between 9th Avenue and Park is nearly a mile and a half. Even a rank tourist would have figured out by, say, 6th Ave. that she'd gone the wrong way." -- Sars] Didn't she cross some streets? Didn't she look up? There are signs, you know. And they're there for exactly that purpose, so you know where you are. Anyway, she walked along 53rd in exactly the wrong direction, and is now several long blocks from where she wants to be. Not only that, but now the Space Communicator, or whatever this cell phone/walkie-talkie thing is, is malfunctioning.
Now we cut to Amy and Kristi, who...well, now the signs say they're at 53rd and Broadway. According to my calculations, that would put them just about halfway between where the group was supposed to meet and where Ereka's crew of dimwits wound up. They, too, are mixing up their lemonade (from concentrate, rather than mix) in a bucket. Ereka continues trying to call them, but is having no success, and Amy and Kristi have just decided to dive directly into selling. Tammy complains that the Space Communicators have wandered "a mile off [their] target." Mapquest verdict: approximately, yes. Omarosa interviews that Ereka is the first project manager, so if it all goes down the chute, she's going to be the one who's held responsible.
When we return from commercials, Ereka is on the Space Communicator, asking Kristi and Amy to explain exactly where they are and what they're doing. She tells them that they need to get to 53rd and Park, and she suggests they get in a cab, but they tell her they're at 53rd and 8th, and they can't get a cab, because they have two grocery carts with them that they can't just tie to the bumper. The plan to meet at 53rd and 9th is reconstituted (hey, like lemonade!), and the Space Communicators take off walking. They catch up with the Supply Squad. Ereka explains that now, everything's much better. "I am so fortunate to have these girls working for me," she says. "Working for me"? What happened to "I don't want to lead," there, boss lady? Tammy tries her hand at pushing a few cups, but nothing doing. She complains that her feet hurt. Poor baby. It just goes to show you that when you don't know what you're doing, the mules with the four-inch heels are probably a risky choice. time we see her, she has wandered off for a lunch break. She's following the "when in doubt, flee" strategy that you've heard so much about in the books about personal success. That's going to go over well with the rest of the Protégé staff. Kristi complains to the camera that the rest of them haven't had so much as a glass of water, and Tammy's off getting lunch. Oh, pipe down, Kristi. There's no room for a sandwich without splitting your top open anyway. Amy complains likewise that Tammy "is not really focused on being a part of the team." Yeah, I think that's an understatement.
Omarosa, out of the goodness of her heart, such as it is, gets Tammy to walk to the store with her, and while they walk, she tells Tammy that she's putting the rest of the women off a little at this point. This is one of several times when it's hard to concentrate on what Omarosa is saying, because her skirts are so short that you can't help feeling like her underwear is going to appear at any time. Basically, Omarosa and her underwear try to tell Tammy to pitch in and help more, because she's alienating the group. Omarosa gives herself a lot of credit for this, basically congratulating the crap out of herself for telling Tammy, "No one likes you." She refers to this as "confiding in Tammy." When the two of them return to the fold, the first thing Tammy says is basically, "I hear you're all mad because I took a break." Omarosa points out in an interview that she meant for Tammy to keep that as a confidence between them, not to spread it around. She scolds Tammy thusly right in front of the rest of the group, which comes off as really obnoxious and condescending, even if she's right. Disgusted, Omarosa says that now she's done trying to help Tammy get along with people. She might do well to turn her attention toward her own ability to get along with people, it seems to me.
Seaport. VersaCorp. The guys are hustling the few people who are around, but there aren't that many. David actually runs down the street beside a guy on a bike, waving the sign in his face and eventually cutting him off while he's still riding by jumping in front of him. Dude. That is a terrible idea. I mean, it's a good idea if you want a free appendix removal without having to go to the hospital, but it's a terrible idea if you're trying to get a guy to buy a drink. Bowie watches this, dismayed. Nick interviews that David may be a brilliant guy, but "he needed a little help moving the product," by which Nick means, "he's a fucking idiot when it comes to people skills." The other guys mutter about how they're going to get Dave to stop attacking the customers. Heh.
Overhead, the Trumpicopter is hovering. Wow, awesome. "You're not gonna believe this," Donald is saying to someone on the Trumpicopterphone. "The men are at that smelly Fulton Fish Market trying to sell lemonade." He complains into the phone that it's a terrible -- not to mention largely deserted -- location. On the ground, Bill good-naturedly says that they're "dying a slow death out here." Jason notes that whatever lunch rush was coming has already come, so they need to move somewhere else, because, to quote Swingers, this place is dead. Sam smugly gloaterviews that Kwame was the location guy, and that the seaport was a bad choice. Sam is actually thrilled by this development, despite the fact that it screws him, too. He'd rather see somebody else proved inferior to him, I think, than see the team do well and watch anybody else get credit for it. The guys all get together and decide that they need to go someplace else, so they pack up their gear and scoot.
Protégé, meanwhile, is living it up at 53rd and 9th. A couple of guys remark that the lemonade is kind of warm, but Kristi reassures them that it's just that they've "been working so hard, the ice melted." Wow, coherent! So now it's warm lemonade on the street out of a bucket for five dollars. Sign me up! We briefly see George, who explains that normally, he certainly wouldn't pay five bucks for a lemonade (unless Donald told him to, presumably), but if the lemonade were being sold by a pretty girl, he might. We see Kristi kiss one guy on the cheek and give another one what she claims is her phone number. Ay yi yi. She says in an interview that she was surprised to find herself using sex to sell lemonade. Judging from that Red Shoe Diaries thing, I guess she's used to just using sex to sell...well, sex. Heidi is selling, too, and she's doing it through friendliness to men, yes, but she insists in an interview that it's not sex she's using, it's just her personality. A flock of dogs is walked past the women, and Heidi chooses the pit bull to pet. Nice job, moron. Predictably, it growls at her, and she jumps about fifty feet.
The women happily congratulate themselves on how well they're doing locating the suckers of Manhattan and getting them to pay five dollars a pop for lemonade. Group hug!
Elsewhere, Kwame emerges from a storefront with a silver pitcher and cups, and starts trying to talk passersby into buying a lemonade for a buck. The rest of the guys are milling around, too, but no one is having much luck. Bill comments that "the ship was going down." He and Troy discuss the fact that there aren't actually a lot of people in the new location, either. You know, that's the problem with New York -- you can't find people anywhere. In an interview, Sam despairs that they need to "think bigger," and that women are what it takes to sell a product. To test his theory, he grabs a random woman walking by on the street and asks her to hold the lemonade while he sells it to a guy passing by. It doesn't work. Kwame says in his interview that while he got the point of what Sam was trying to do, he thought it was a little goofy and "let the team down." Bill tells Sam, as nicely as he can, that he's doing too much complicated selling, and he needs to just keep it short and sweet and simple. In an interview, Sam explains that the other guys "just don't get it," and that's what makes them think he's out of his bird. I must not get it either, then.
, Sam hatches a new plan, which is to find one guy who will pay a thousand dollars for a lemonade. This would be called The Fat Chance Plan. He approaches a gentleman and explains to him that by buying this lemonade, he will be participating in the American dream and he will have a story to tell. As Sam explains it in an interview, Trump gets people to pay twice what they should for Manhattan real estate -- "thousand-dollar lemonade." It's an interesting theory, aside from the fifty or so reasons why it would never work, starting with the fact that double the value of a cup of warm lemonade on the street is not a thousand dollars. At first, the mark doesn't even think he understands what Sam is proposing. What's the deal, other than a thousand bucks for a cup of lemonade? Nope, that's the whole deal. Sam tells the guy that he's giving him his word that if he buys the lemonade for a thousand bucks, he will experience the American dream. I'm not sure he should say that, and that may be what they're talking about later when the legality of Sam's tactics is briefly discussed. A hopeful Sam interviews that he just thinks Trump will really go for a "killer thing to do" like trying to get people to spend a thousand bucks on lemonade. The guy chooses not to do so, unsurprisingly. Sam says he is sad. He's showing his weaknesses. The team doesn't respect him. Gee, I wonder why that is. After the fact, talking to Bill and Carolyn, Sam still can't own up to the folly of his plan, and he insists that it was worth a shot. Carolyn points out that he spent twenty minutes not contributing to the selling at all. As they go into the last hour, Troy encourages his broken-down team to go for a strong finish to their day. He's getting very high-school-quarterbackish as the task draws to a close.
The guys do seem to have a little luck trading on the sheer charm of their approach, and late in the day, they seem to do some selling. Troy says in his interview that he thinks they beat the women.
When we return from commercials, it is 9:00 AM the morning. Look, a tall building! In New York! The candidates file into the Boardroom, where Carolyn and George -- but not Donald -- are waiting. When all the candidates have arranged themselves nicely, divided by team, the wooden doors swing open and Donald enters the room. As he sits down, Donald announces that he's "really busy today," so this has to go quickly. Maybe this is the day he has his hair done. I assume it takes all day. When he is seated, Donald turns gravely to Carolyn for an assessment of how the men did. She first notes that they "found a location very quickly," which I suppose is a version of the old "we're lost, but we're making great time" joke. She speaks admiringly of how the fellas "tapped into some local resources" (that was the part with the free cups), and ultimately, the guys doubled their money. Now it's George's turn. He says that the women started off with "mass confusion," but over the course of the day, they pulled it together. They not only doubled their money; they quadrupled it.
Now the interesting thing about that, of course, is that if the guys doubled their money, I'm assuming that means they made $500 in sales, doubling their initial $250 stash of seed money. They appeared for most of the day to be selling at a buck a cup, which means they sold about 500 lemonades, which is, over the course of the eight or so hours that it looks like they were selling, about sixty lemonades an hour or so. One a minute. Not bad, really. The women, on the other hand, brought home $1000, selling at five bucks a cup. They sold about 200 lemonades total, or about twenty-five an hour. Less than half as many as the guys, and only three or so an hour per girl, if they were selling individually. So the idea that nobody bought from the guys because they had a bad location, or because they weren't cute enough, or because there were no people, does not appear to be the case. What appears to be the case is that the women charged more, and the difference in price wasn't big enough to drive off so many people that they couldn't make money. In my opinion, nobody under normal circumstances would buy a cup of warm mystery lemonade out of a bucket on a street in New York for a dollar or for five dollars -- there's a place to stop in and get something to drink about every twenty feet in Manhattan. People bought the lemonade because there were cameras around. And most people who will, on a whim, buy lemonade for a dollar in case they get on TV or wind up with a great story will also buy it for five dollars. In other words, it was an interesting experiment in group dynamics, but it was a totally twisted market, and the guys acted like they were selling lemonade, while the women acted like they were selling the experience of buying lemonade under these particular circumstances. I don't think it indicates that any group of attractive women could make a thousand dollars a day by selling lemonade on the street out of a bucket for five dollars.
At any rate, the women grin happily when their superior haul is announced. George describes their take as $1200, so I'm not sure if he doesn't know the word "quintuple," or was rounding down, or if he thinks "quadruple your money" means four times as much profit as you had seed money...anyway, the point still remains essentially the same. "What can I say?" Donald says flatly. "The numbers speak for themselves." He repeats to the men that they got their fannies handed to them, "and it wasn't even close." The women clap. Eeeeeeeee! Donald tells them that for winning the first challenge, their reward is a chance to "see the nicest apartment in New York City" -- his. Yes, that's their prize. Yes, he is apparently serious. He turns to the men. "Guys, they killed you. They really gave you a good beating. So you're not going to be seeing my apartment." That really happened, by the way -- he really said that. "You're not going to be seeing my apartment." He reminds VersaCorp that they will have to return later to the Boardroom, where someone will be sacked. The women clap and "woo!" some more after Donald leaves. Slow-motion shots of the guys looking miserable take us out of this sequence.
Manhattan Skyline Shot Number 856 transitions us to the suite, where the men are licking their wounds and, it appears, sucking down the leftover lemonade, which would certainly be the last thing I would feel like doing. Kwame interviews that he thinks they sold as much as they possibly could, and it was only when they learned how much money "the girls" sold that he began to feel like they could have done better. Sitting around the kitchen, the guys credit the women for their victory, and Troy says, "They just spanked us, and we'll come back." Bowie interviews that he's bummed that he doesn't get to see the Trumpartment, and he envies the women because they don't have to worry about the Boardroom tonight. If he knew what the Trumpartment looked like, he wouldn't feel so bad.
Peppy music takes us up to...oh, Lord, it's the Trumpartment. The ladies are just arriving. How can I describe the Trumpartment to you? Okay, imagine a really nice, pretty apartment with nice, pretty furniture. Now, in your mind, cover all of the available flat surfaces with gold leaf, except for the walls, which you should imagine are marble. Now, put an incredibly large, incredibly bright chandelier approximately every six feet as you walk through the apartment, so that all of the gold leaf directs glare into your eyes at all times. Also, stock the apartment with an incredible quantity of expensive clutter, like little statues, and trinkets, and doohickeys -- pure gold doohickeys from Europe, of course. The maid (or whatever) opens the doors to the apartment, which appear to be pure gold, of course. She ushers the women into the inner sanctum. More gold. More marble walls. The chairs, where other chairs would be wood, are gold. The tray ceiling? Gold. "This is, like, rich," Tammy says. "Like, really really rich." I think Tammy has reacted to the apartment just as Donald intended. Kristi interviews, "Words can't describe how beautiful it was." Oh, really? I'll give you some words. "Tacky." There's a word. "Gaudy." There's another word. "Fugly." "Hideous." "Ostentatious." "Ridiculous." "Preposterous." And, oh yes, "offensive." They're all words, and they all flashed in my mind when I observed the wonder that is the Trumpartment.
As the women tour the place, Trump's girlfriend Melania comes down the stairs. "Hi, I'm Melania," she tells them, which I think taxes her vocabulary tremendously. There is chitchat, and then Tammy asks Melania, "How do you clean a house like this?" Well, I don't think Melania knows much about how you clean the house, there, Tammy. She's not exactly scrubbing the toilet with the marble-handled plunger. "Well, you have, uh, people to clean," Melania says blandly. "You're very, very lucky," Heidi says. "And he's not lucky?" Melania says. Way to put the guests at ease, there, you rude, rude girl. People say that all the time -- "you're a very lucky guy," "you're a very lucky woman" -- and it's not a slam at you, it's a compliment about how much they like your other half. You can shut the hell up and take it graciously, but I don't know why I would expect anything Trump-related to be gracious in any respect, I suppose. They all obediently stammer that of course Donald is also lucky, of course! Of course he is! Melania may not be married to Donald, but she has already taken as community property an exact replica of his incredible need to have people kiss his ass.
And here comes Donald now. Down the hall and into the apartment. He's very busy, you know. He greets all the women, and tells them that if they're really, really successful, they can live just like this! Or, of course, they could decide to have taste, but why quibble? "It's fun," he says. He interviews that he only shows the apartment to a very small number of people. Presidents and kings are the two types he mentions. And now, of course, everyone with a TV. So much for discretion. I will admit, though, that if I decorated an apartment that way, I wouldn't show it to anyone either. He takes the women on a little apartment tour, which includes the functional fountain (ugly, of course). Kristi says that they "got to see a different side of him." It looks to me like they're seeing the same side of him that he displays in all circumstances -- the "look-at-me-look-at-me" side, but Kristi's the one seeing the marble up close, so she would know. He shows them the dining room and admits that he never eats dinner there. It's just there to act as a demonstration of what a really rich person's dining room would look like, if he didn't have any taste. Before they leave, he admonishes them to "put on [their] competitive hat again" and get ready to compete some more. When he's gone, Tammy says again how "rich" the apartment is. Yeah, we get it, sister.
More commercials, and then we rejoin the guys in the suite. Troy tells them that "everybody did a great job." Aside from the smacking they took and everything. Bill tells the group that they need to face the fact that when they meet up with Trump and the Viceroys in the Boardroom, they're going to be asked to lay blame, and it won't be pretty. Bowie says in an interview that he's worried about the meeting, because while he's a fast talker, Trump is faster. And, presumably, while he's a bit of a blowhard, Trump is blowhardier. Jason proposes they go in "thinking as a unit," but that idea takes a beating once people realize that it's really not possible to do that, because they have to be prepared to cut somebody loose. Troy interviews that going to the Boardroom as the team captain after a loss is not easy. Back in the suite chat, Sam argues that they should "praise people first, and criticize second." Everyone makes "yeah, yeah" noises, and they're all imagining Sam's head turning into a roast turkey, like people do on those old cartoons about being marooned on a desert island. David interviews that he, unlike the rest, feels good going into the meeting and is looking forward to it. He feels confident in his ability to defend himself, and he's sure he'll be fine. He says "multiple people are worried," but the only really freaked-out guy is Sam. The use of the word "multiple" in that context is rather ridiculous, horrific-overstuffed-jargon-wise-speaking. In a bedroom, Troy tries to reassure Sam, and encourages him to just chill out, for God's sake.
Sam's step is to sit down and make notes on the computer of all the praise and criticism he will have for everyone. (The apartment has a computer with a really big monitor, for some reason.) Sam tells us, as we see him typing, that he's getting "a bad energy from David." He thinks Trump may see immediately that David is not a run-a-company type, but you never know when you're talking about crazy rich guys and the things they'll do. Oh, those crazy rich guys. In the bedroom, Sam pops some pills. Heh. No, I have no idea what they are. Shoulda been tranquilizers, but I suspect they're not. If they are, Sam should return them for a refund. As the guys leave for the Boardroom, the women wish them luck.
For a change of pace, we now get night shots of the Manhattan skyline. Then the guys all file into the Boardroom, all wheeling their little suitcases in case they have to leave, I guess. They all sit down across from Donald and the Viceroys. George opens the meeting by saying that working for Donald is a big job, and whoever gets it will spend a lot of time with George. He doesn't want "an idiot." He slams the choice of location, and Kwame responds that "some of the locations were a little bit better than others," which I guess is the kind way to look at it. He explains his thinking again about how he expected a lunch crowd at the Seaport location, and Donald repeats his impression that the stinky fish made for a bad spot. He then asks David whether, had David been the team leader, he thinks the result would have been different. "Not in this case, because sales is not my forte." Well, that's...up-front, anyway. Sam says yes, he does think it would have been different if he had been the leader. George asks if he thinks they would have won. Sam says that part of leading is putting your ideas out there and making sure that they get a fair shot. Donald asks if he's saying Troy did a bad job. Sam says no, Troy is "a hustler of the nth degree." However, he thinks he and Troy showed the same weakness -- no listening skills. ["No prepositional skills, either. Shut up, Sam." -- Sars]
George turns to Jason, commenting that he's very quiet. Jason says he's "listening." "Listeners, we got plenty. We need talkers," George grumps at him. Jason says he's happy to talk when he has something to say, but he's not going to talk for the hell of it. Jason starts to explain that everybody's a good leader on the team, and he's mid-sentence when Trump cuts him off and says, "But it sounds like you're saying that Troy isn't a good leader." Jason stammers. "Well, I, I, I didn't finish." As he starts to explain again, Trump cuts him off again and says that when you're trying to impress somebody and they're asking you a question, you shouldn't "interrupt them and say 'let me finish.'" Donald is flat wrong. I watched it a couple of times. Jason did not interrupt Trump at all. Trump finished his sentence, stopped, was done. Furthermore, he didn't even say "let me finish." Trump said, "It sounds like you're saying X," and Jason said, "Well, I didn't finish." I'm not saying Trump doesn't have a point that you have to be a better suck-up than this if you want to impress a guy as addicted to suck-ups as Trump is, but Jason didn't interrupt him or cut him off at all. That just struck me as a totally needless smacking when the kid wasn't even out of line. Trump is right as far as the realities of being the low man on the totem pole, but on the merits, he has no case. What's more, Trump specifically says again, "When I ask a question, and I'm not finished with the question, you don't say 'let me finish.'" He's absolutely, entirely wrong. He was finished with the question. If I were Trump, and I saw this on the show now, I'd send the kid a note and apologize for trying to humiliate him when my factual predicate for the smacking was completely off-base. It's not ambiguous -- he's completely wrong.
Anyway, George asks Jason if the result would have been different if he had been the leader. Jason says yes. Trump asks him why, and Jason says that Troy didn't do a good job of listening to everybody before he decided what they were going to do about everything. "Do you think they would have listened to you?" Donald asks. "Yeah, because I would have listened to them," Jason says. I think that was a pretty good answer. Trump doesn't. "I think that's business school stuff," he says. He thinks you have to act, not listen. Oh, the irony, considering his recent abuse of Jason with no cause. Trump turns to Troy. "It's easy to answer these questions today," Troy says, "because you're a Monday morning quarterback." Ooh, risky ploy. Trump could have thought Troy meant him. But apparently, he doesn't take it that way. Troy goes on to say that for good or for ill, he stepped up and did the best he could under the circumstances. Trump gives him the "you're right," and agrees with him. Troy says he backed up Kwame on the location once he delegated that task to him. George points out that Troy's challenge was that when you delegate a task, you're a hero or a goat based on how the other person does. Carolyn, however, takes issue with Troy's description of events, because she feels that Troy was inconsistent. While he did back up Kwame, he didn't back up Sam. Well, of course he didn't back up Sam. Who would back up Sam? Sam is insane. You don't back up the crazy guy. You pat him on the head, claim that you see the same flying alligators he does, and send him on his way.
Trump moves to Jason. "Who do you think is the worst leader?" "I would probably say Sam," Jason answers. Everyone at the table goes on to pick Sam, except for Sam himself, who picks David. Sam explains this by saying that he's not sure David "believes in himself as a leader." "Oh, really?" David says in a way that he means to sound amused, but actually only sounds defensive and nervous. David is very, very annoying. David argues that Sam's tactics "went over the edge."
Donald asks Sam what the hell's going on with his whole team thinking he sucks the bag. Sam replies that it's Trump, not the guys, making the decision. Donald can only agree. "If I'm your president, Mr. Trump," Sam says, "I'm going to stand right here in front of you [stands up from Boardroom chair] and say in front of everybody here, 'I will not break the rules for your organization!'" Bill and Troy are looking at each other like they're at a party where a guy just got up to the karaoke machine and started singing "With Or Without You" to his girlfriend without a hint of irony. Bill, in fact, is actually laughing at Sam's great dramatic moment. Sam, still standing: "You tell me I'm coming close, I will stop, and if you have to punch me in the stomach and tell me to sit down and shut up, I'll shut up. And I'll learn." Wait, does that count as a spoiler? The stomach-punching? God, I hope so. Sam turns back to Trump. "Mr. Trump, I don't want to work for anybody else in this country." Somehow, he winds up sitting down again. He talks some more about how he wants to work for Donald, follow the rules, be the best...it's very inspirational. Donald says working for him will be "a big stretch." Sam says it won't be, actually, because he learns fast. "You don't believe in the genetic pool, that what you have, you have?" Ouch. Just...wow, ouch. Sam: "I have got genetic pool big-time, Mr. Trump. Just like you got from your father Fred Trump and your mother Mary Trump." Could that be a more obvious "I have researched your parents' names" gambit? Oy. Trump just says he hopes so.
Trump now tells Troy that while he's the manager, he's not the only one responsible. He wants Troy to pick out the two other people he thinks bear responsibility for the failure. Troy says he selects Sam and David. As it turns out, what they do is that everybody else then gets to go home, and the team leader and his two chosen victims sit with Donald to decide who gets sent home. So Jason, Bill, Kwame, Bowie, and Nick get to go up to the suite and rest easy. Because the step is Phase II: The Firing. Before that, though, the three Boardroom invitees have to go outside and wait while Donald chats up the Viceroys. And Mark Burnett. Oh, no, wait, I'm sure that doesn't really happen.
After the break, Trump asks Carolyn what she thinks of Troy. She says that while he's charming, his leadership was questionable.
Out in the Loser Lobby, Sam is demonstrating that his social skills haven't improved in the last five minutes by telling Troy and David that Trump is "a forward-thinking guy." He tells David that he just doesn't see that Trump will ever pick him as a president of one of his companies.
Back inside, Carolyn tells Donald that she thinks David was wrong to say Sam "stepped over the line," because she feels Sam didn't. Of course, what David actually said was "over the edge," which could mean the edge of sanity, and not -- as Carolyn says -- the edge of legality. Donald says he had gotten the impression that Sam did break the rules. How? Hard to say. They don't explain.
In the Loser Lobby, Sam tells David and Troy that he will eventually be Trump's guy, even though he's obviously struggling right now. "I can't do it today. You know what I'm doing today?" He gets down on the floor and crawls on his hands and knees. He demonstrates how first, he will get to his knees. Then, he will blow Trump. Oh, no, he doesn't say that. What he will do after he gets to his knees is stand all the way up and eventually rule the world as an evil overlord. "Denial is a river in Africa," David says, mangling the expression, which is more like, "Denial ain't just a river in Africa." Saying denial is a river in Africa doesn't make very much sense, David, no matter how high your IQ may be. Once Sam is fully standing, David also says, "Now you're homo erectus, okay?" It's sad when a guy comes across something like that that's almost funny, but he can't quite get there. He smelled the joke in the vicinity, but he did not actually locate it.
Inside the meeting, George is telling Trump that he likes Sam. Ew. He finds Sam to be a risk-taker. "You've been taking risks all your life," he says to Donald.
Loser Lobby. "We'll find out if I hung myself," Sam says. "I'm not going to say any more."
Trump pages the secretary (Robin, it turns out) and has her send in the clowns. Robin watches them walk into the Boardroom like, "I can't believe one of these people is going to have a better job than I do." In the Boardroom, the guys sit down. Trump asks Troy what made him pick David to be in the group. Troy says that David is a logistics person -- a "numbers guy" -- but while he thinks David would be a great assistant to somebody, he doesn't see a leader. He asks if Troy would trust Sam with his bank account, and Troy says no, he wouldn't. Sam freaks out, insisting that for Troy to say he wouldn't trust Sam with his bank account is to say that he thinks Sam is dishonest. "Maybe it's lack of discretion, not lack of honesty," David says, correct on the substance but delivering it with such an obnoxious smirky manner that you can't help wanting to punch his lights out. Trump tells Troy that while he did "a lousy job as the leader," he also stepped up the first time out, and so Trump has decided not to fire him. As Trump starts in on Sam about all his weaknesses, Sam stands up. "Sit down," Donald says. "Thank you, Mr. Trump," Sam says as he sits. Okay, that was hysterically funny, in a way I cannot even explain to you if you didn't see it. He stood up for no apparent reason, got smacked and told to sit the fuck down, and thanked Trump. It's...the guy is just bizarre. Trump tells Sam that he's either going to be great, or he's going to be a total disaster. Now, Trump turns to David. "I don't see that you've stepped up at all." David makes a surprised face. Donald explains that there's an elevator back up to the suite, and an elevator that goes down to the street. Two will get on the up elevator, one will get on the down elevator. And taking that down elevator? Will be David. Because David is fired. Fired!
Sam smirks a lot more than he probably should at this turn of events. There are three people in this room -- he should remember that somebody is probably watching his behavior. He also bows to everyone on his way out. Heh. Trump explains to the Viceroys that he just saw nothing in David. Smart, maybe, but not interesting. Downstairs, David gets into a cab. When you have been fired, no limo for you!
In the back of the cab where his exit interview is apparently happening, David gives you a pretty good idea of why everyone hated him and he got booted: "I take solace in the fact that I have a higher IQ than the other fifteen contestants, which just goes to show you that there's little correlation between IQ and success in lemonade sales." God, what an asshole. I didn't know how relieved I was that they kicked him out first until right then.
week: Running in heels! Fist-pounding! Bickering! Threatening! Sleeping on the job! Jets! Donald in a pink tie! I'm embarrassed to say...I'm sort of psyched. Not about the pink tie, though.