If you're out of work, why not try out to be the next Afflac Duck.

People are lining up in six major cities to audition to be the next quacksperson for the insurance company Aflac.

The scene in Atlanta was like the duck itself: grating, conspicuous, and most of all loud.

“Let me hear a duck skydiving,” said casting director Brian Beagle.

“Aflaaaaac!” cried Sandy Smith, 54, of Birmingham, Alabama, in her most terrified duck voice.

One by one, the hopefuls waddled through, putting their ducks in a row as much as one can for a job limited by one bird and his one word.

The contenders were allowed to grunt, groan and mutter, but their only word began with “A” and rhymed with quack.

They quacked like Donald. They quacked like Daffy. They quacked shy, shrill, scared and silly.

Recorders rolled as the wannabes channeled their inner ducks to quack like a duck in love … a duck answering the phone … a duck singing about being in love … a duck on a wire … a duck flying by … a duck getting bad news … another duck in love. Ducks fearful and ducks overjoyed.

Aflac plans to screen about 1,000 live auditions and 12,000 online submissions, with the company’s new duck scheduled to quack out a new ad later this month.

Several wannabes compared the odds of getting the job of official squawker to the odds of winning the lottery.

Naman, an account manager for 14 years and unemployed for two years, felt triumphant simply by auditioning.

“I’ve sent out applications and gone to job fairs and it’s like throwing your resume into a black hole,” she said.

“Companies have done a good job of building a wall to keep people out. Just getting this job interview is like winning the lottery.”

The long-shot duck gig represented a brass ring to others.

The last interview for Wayne Cobb — a roofing contractor in Stockbridge, Georgia — was when he was 18. The 61-year-old contestant calmed his pre-quack jitters by rehearsing in front of his grandchildren with a duck puppet.

“It might sound corny, but this job would let me do some landscaping around my church that we don’t have the funding to take care of,” he said.

Each audition lasted only minutes, and almost everyone left smiling.

Leonard Bates, 56, a retired FedEx shipping agent, felt good as he ducked out.

He waved to those in the waiting room and said, “Let the best quacker win.”

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