I had just come back from performing a play in Stratford, followed directly by a lengthy work Christmas party of bowling and karaoke. I knew that the following day (a Monday, famous for it's '-itis') I would be working from 6:30 to 5:30, which would involve some extra catering and a big group for breakfast. So I asked myself, do I really really want to go to an audition afterwards? I hadn't even had time to look over the play or practice a New York accent (where it's set. Although, I sometimes just do that for fun). I also found the particular theatre where it was being held to be a little daunting, having previously been told there, in front of all the other auditionees, that I didn't have the part and could leave! The thing about these auditions, though, is that you definitely don't tend to get roles if you don't even attend. I know, it's dumb. So, I gave myself a good kick in the nuts when I got home at 10pm on Sunday night, and packed a bag of clothes to change into after work from where I would drive straight to the theatre.
Monday was just as evil as I expected. I learned that little old church ladies (who comprised the big booking) are fueled by monster breakfasts, and after working against the clock to fill the fridge for the day, I slaved away in the kitchen to satisfy all-consuming bellies at odds with their charitable nature; our chief food hand was lost to the catering cause which she managed to finish right on collection time; and godless children were the final scoop of ice cream in our Sarah Conner aprons. My jaw actually dropped when I saw the state of the lounge once finally vacated by a pack of brats and their unapologetic parents. Every cushion had been upturned and there seemed to have been some sort of experiment to see how far you can spread a croissant. At another table, a little girl dictated to her mother what she would eat and when they would leave, letting her off with the warning "I am not angry! If you say that one more time, I'll never talk to you again! Then you'll have no one to talk to! You're silly! You're always yelling at me!" Really, kid? Doesn't sound like that from here!
Needless to say, I worked my bacon-scented butt off and by the end of day, I even managed to gather a trickle of sweat between my imaginary boobs. I fluffed about (so to speak) in the staff toilet, giving myself a good-as-new (*thumbs up, crazed smiley face*) wipe down with a moist towelette before heading out, with my American accent training cd blaring, to hunt down and kill my dinner. Regretfully, I went from some pre-murdered chicken at Red Rooster. I was directed to the peri-peri wrap when I asked for a healthy suggestion, and I'm pretty sure that's what made me almost poop my pants and/or vomit for the remainder of what turned out to be a very, very long night... (All I had left to wear after my weekend away were super tight jeans which did nothing to help my belly, and by the end of the night I felt as though I had sunburn on my hips from where I'd been pulling them up and down in the toilet!)
As one of the first to arrive at the theatre, I took the piles of script labelled with my characters of interest and sat down to study them. After reading the first page in one pile, I realised the every other page was the same and that I was only supposed to take one sheet! I managed to return the piles unnoticed, whilst listening to the other girls ponder the mystery of the missing sheets and their miraculous reappearance. It was a relief, at least, when I watched a score of other people go on to make the exact same mistake.
I watched my competition come through the door, my heart sinking at the arrival of my arch-nemesis (a-n.. Let's call her Ann. Without an e. Ha!). Ann is clearly a regular of that theatre and scooped the role out from under us all at the last audition (because it couldn't have been from my lack of talent, right?!). Based on the script extracts I'd read, I was pleased when I realised Ann at least didn't physically suit the lead female. Her suitability for the remaining role, though, was yet to be seen.
I also saw a prime candidate for the lead male, strutting about. He just looked the typical choice for the role and I thought, I bet he gets cast.
Despite my promptness, the director elected to audition all the boys first, leaving us girls to wait for 2 hours. Wow. Wish I'd known that pre towelette shower and peri peri wrap. Although there were scenes in which the girls could be utilised, we were left to sit in the foyer while boy read off boy (and maybe ate off each other and read lullabies. Who knows what they were doing in there?!). Not to worry, such is the actor's life and I came prepared with a good book. I was also entertained by a normal-enough looking lad who took a seat beside me and started cracking his knuckles and neck (I'm pretty sure, in a bid to impress me. Mmm, the sounds of bones and cartilage. Hot). I'd seen him kicking the door earlier and even as he sat beside me, he received a text which incited, "You are kidding me. I fucking knew it!" and some more storming about.
I also made conversation with the lady manning (or.. ladying) the foyer, who informed me that the director's mother had just died. Possibly not the best thing to learn at that moment since, in one of the audition scenes, my character holds a seance to contact her dead mother. Awkward...
After those lonely, hungry, crazed hours had passed, it was finally the girls' time to shine. Unlike the boys, we were all lumped in together due to the sudden shortage of time (where did the hours go?). When the director asked for a volunteer, however, everyone was silent (having decided time no longer exists). I for one was keen to get my pants off (by getting home!) and announced, "Yeeeah, I'll have a crack." The girls laughed at my 'wisecrack', not realising I'd accidentally slipped into the ocker accent I must mock a little too regularly.
When all who were interested tried out for this secondary role, one woman had to leave but was assured by the director, "I can tell you now, you've got the part." Not exactly a confidence booster for all who were left to try out for the final, lead role! The lead male, also cast moments before, was asked to read off us remaining desperados, and who walks in but the typical lead I'd spotted in the foyer. He proved a talented actor, but I still felt smug for having picked it (and enjoyed an evil chuckle on the inside as I stroked my internal mustache. Wait...). With little left to lose, when my time came, I felt I gave a unique performance, even stepping in to embrace the lead when all the other girls had played it coy. My main man congratulated me with a "Well done!" and a high five, sharing a laugh over the "Yeea-ah!" that was my excited response. Now if that ain't on-stage chemistry, then my name's not.. Wotcha-ma-call-it.
My only remaining obstacle was Ann who, as she hadn't read for the previous role, was surely hiding some cunning cards up her sleeve (like a dirty, rotten cheat! She probably had some spiders up there, too. And.. disease). Waiting with bated breath, I exhaled with relief the moment Ann opened her mouth and proved she wasn't suited for the role. I knew without a doubt that a night away from my knitting and the chess club was worthwhile - I was going home with the part!
The auditionees were asked to wait in the foyer while the jury reached a verdict. I lowered my gaze, lest they see my pride at what everyone knew - I had freakin' smashed it, mate. When the director finally joined us and asked Ann to accompany him back to the theatre, I admit my certainty wavered, but I realised that he must be breaking the loss to her gently. The director reappeared, Annless (she must've taken it hard! That's what she said), and told us Ann had got the part. Now, you may have already gathered that result from my blog title, but for me...:
*BBBRRRRRAAAIIIINNNN EEEXXXPPPLLOOOOOSSSSIIOOONNNN!!!!!!!!!!*
My heart sunk as can only that of someone who still believes life's fair. The lead male had joked while we waited about giving us the director's number to abuse him, and when he mentioned it again, the director asked, "For a couch audition?" Yes, that is the most horribly degrading thing you could say at this crushing moment.
Back in the car, the clock stuck 10:30 and I felt like having a little sob. But, if I took the rejection of every audition to heart, I'd soon be singing, "Nobody likes me" and eating worms, so I used the brief moment of privacy on the drive home for an uplifting karaoke session (which, in my mind, made up for inflicting my alcohol-affected, out-of-tune voice on my workmates the night before).
Although this particular theatre has now endeavoured to crush my spirit more than once (like, twice!), I am gonna keep hitting those bitches up until they grow accustomed to my ugly mug and cast me. There will come a time when resident Ann and I are best buds, singing and laughing together in a field of daisies. But, until that day, she will be known as stinky, role-stealing, EEVVVILL ANN... (a.k.a. Spider lady.)
