Has Jeff Probst been sneaking into Manhattan aboard Trump’s private jet (make that Mark Burnett’s–Trump’s is probably with the repo man) to help out the folks over at The Apprentice? It certainly seems that way after last night’s episode.
Although I never miss The Apprentice, I watch it in part because I love to hate it so much. How do they pick so many people who are both bad at business AND unpleasant to be around? Why are they all such evil boneheads in the boardroom? And why does Donald Trump never know ANYTHING about the tasks except what that darling old Carolyn and dottering old George tell him?
Last night’s episode was a new high/low for me. Not because they got rid of the richly deserving Jennifer C., whose pouty lips opened to reveal fangs dripping with blood about every three minutes or so, but because The Apprentice has finally started to look like its evil sister in law, Survivor: 57th Street. Finally, we’ve started to see groupthink and even a little bit of strategy come into the boardroom, as lame as the attempts are. Case in point: Sandy–the seemingly sweet bridal salon owner who came up with the unpopular restaurant decor–making a deal with Jennifer C to go after Stacy R, and then stabbing her in the back when the wind changed directions.
Now this, I thought, was Vanuatu-worthy. Bradford giving up his immunity to be a good guy? That would never, never happen on Survivor. Stacie J getting the shaft for being a little, uh, wacked? Nah, they’d keep her around as someone’s ally and then discard her when she was no longer needed. Merely messing up on the task at hand is no longer a guarantee of a long elevator ride to hell. In fact, it’s had nothing to do with anything so far this season. If it had, Sandy, Pamela and Ivana would have met their makers. To me, that’s a clear sign that dear Mr. Barnett has decided to clue these women in on the notion of, well, survival.
If things keep going this way, it won’t be long before the team has to wear an Apprentice “buff,” just like the castaways. (Just think: it could be an ascot for the guys, a scarf for the ladies. Raj would love it). There’s just one problem: These women would rather die trying to tear each other’s hair out than live to see another day together.