My dream was finally coming true. Ever since I started watching Hell's Kitchen at 16 years old, I have studied tirelessly to become a chef that Gordon Ramsay would be proud of. Now, as I wait on the couch in my living room with a camera pointed at my face expectantly, I can barely stifle my excitement as I hear the doorbell ring, and hop to my feet.
"(Y/N)?" asks the portly man at the door, holding a red card in both of his hands.
"Yes, that's me!" I exclaim excitedly, nervous energy coursing through me. The film crew had arrived beforehand, so I knew this part was just for the camera, but it felt as amazing as I had imagined seeing my invitation in the presenter's hands.
"Congratulations, you've been chosen as a contestant on Season 11 of Hell's Kitchen!" he announced, then held out his hand to shake mine. I was too busy bouncing around the room to reciprocate, but he seemed nonplussed and smiled at me,
"I love the enthusiasm, I'm sure Ramsay will appreciate it."
At the mention of Gordon's name, I feel my face flush in nervous heat. Holy shit, this is for real. This isn't just a sixteen-year-old's dream anymore. At the prime age of twenty-three, I was going to be whisked away to Los Angeles to compete against fellow chefs for the chance to be an executive chef, hand picked by Gordon himself. Tears began to well in my eyes, and I turned to the man at the door and thanked him, accepting my invitation graciously.
The camera crew thanked me and got up to leave, many of them congratulating me as they left my small apartment. One younger woman stopped and said she was rooting for me, which caused me to break out in a smile.
Once the camera crew had all gone, I bounced around my living room and kitchen, unable to stop myself. This was it, I was going in the next week to see my idol, the man I've been living my whole life since I was a teenager to try and impress will be in front of me in the flesh, soon.