This is all Stephanie’s fault. She told me to audition. She said, “Hey, are you going to audition for Fools at Long Beach?” And I said, “Yes.” Damn her. And it’s Vicky’s fault, too. I said, “I don’t think I should go; I’m nervous.” And she said, “Oh, go ahead.”
Fucking women.
So, I went to my first audition in (mumble) years today. I got myself all psyched up at home… and then Vicky said, “Oh, go ahead.” So, I went anyway. I wanted to wear just the right thing. So, I put on my jeans and a white dress shirt. Of course, I’m so fat, it looked kinda like a mumu… so I tucked it in… that didn’t help, either.
Driving out there, the early evening was unseasonably cold. I was concerned that I might freeze at the audition and kicked myself for not bringing a jacket. I parked as this beautiful blonde was getting out of her car. I didn’t want anything to do with the beautiful blonde; I was sure she’d be one of those conceited bitches that are so stereotypically… you know… conceited. (Also, I felt fatter and uglier just looking at her…)
I waited before I got out of my car. I was early. I hate being early. Because that means, you know, you’ll be called to audition… you know… early. Oh well. Eventually, I walked up. The beautiful blonde came around a corner and asked, “Do you know where to go in?” Actually, I did. I felt very smart. I opened the door for her and showed her in to the theater’s lobby.
Like a gentleman, I let her sign in first – hell, at that point, I would have let anyone get in line first… but there was no one else, so I stepped up next.
And I started signing in on the wrong form. And then I missed the sign-in forms I was supposed to sign. And then, I realized a line was forming behind me as I hurried to filled out said forms… Things weren’t turning out well…
Then, I gagged. And choked. And gagged. I realized a horribly smelly person had entered the theater lobby – and he was walking towards me! I tried to write faster.
“I’m in SAG. Where do I sign in?”
Of course, the unwashed was union. Behind him, a woman said, “I’m in equity. I shouldn’t have to wait.” Oh Lord.
So, I finished signing in and hurried away so I could breath. Next thing you know, I hear, “Ken? Ken? Ken La… Ken?”
“That’s me,” I said, cause really you don’t want to make things difficult, and found out I was being paired up with Lauren, the beautiful blonde. Of course. “Can we read outside?” I asked. “It’s a little hot in here.” It was, too. It was like 400 degrees in there. I had already sweat through my white shirt – LOVELY! – and was pitted down to my waist!
Turns out Lauren had aspirations to be a director… of me, at least. But that was okay because she was actually, you know, good. I noticed her face moved; I wished I could do that. And she gestured and… you know, acted. I just kind trembled and muttered.
And then, we were called in. We were called first… of course.
The director looked at my resume. “Oh, look! Best Christmas Pageant Ever.” I felt like the kid whose mother still has the finger-painting he made when he was two on the refrigerator door… only he’s 19 now… and his mother is showing his date. You know, he might as well have said, “I see you have no talent whatsoever!”
Then, he looked at Lauren’s resume. “Oooh, you played Cruella Deville? What was that like?” “Oh, it was wonderfully evil,” Lauren told him. “It must have been,” he moaned, creaming his pants.
And, of course, no one killed me.
So, we auditioned and I screwed up my lines and Lauren, who I hold nothing against because she was very beautiful and very talented, did just fine. And I wanted to die.
“Okay, if I call you back it’ll be via email,” the director told us. And at this point, I swear to you, I said, “Can I write my email address down again? My handwriting is pretty bad; I want you to be able to read it.” It was like, “Here, let me rewrite what I am sure will be the first email address you send a gushing acceptance to… cause I’m so fucking cool…”
Oy.
Meanwhile, he’s telling Lauren – because seriously, he did not need to tell me this – that callbacks would be all improv! Great! Please do not call me back! If there’s one thing I’m worse at than not sweating and fucking up auditions… it’s improv!
God, what a miserable night. I know we all have auditions like this – all of us who strut upon the stage – but, damn… I’m just glad it’s over.
(PS. Vicky told me I had bad breath, too! SCORE!)
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