I am so New York, sometimes

Last Wednesday I went to my first audition. You heard me . . . AUDITION. Am I an aspiring actress? Nope. Have I ever done this before? Not really, unless you want to count the church auditorium before my freshman year when I auditioned with my then boyfriend. (We nailed it, by the way, and went on to wow multiple church audiences all around Orange County.) Am I currently funemployed with occasional open afternoons on my hands? You got it!
So, I saw an ad on Craigslist and I figured, “Why not?” For all of you amateurs out there who have never been to an audition before (I am no longer part of your community having graduated into the “step above you” leagues) it went down exactly like it does in the movies. Seriously. I kept looking around at the stark and depressing room filled with strangers of all shapes, colors, and ages, completely amused with how cliché the whole thing seemed. There was the couple that argued on the way in, he accusing her of making them both late while shaking his head at every excuse she proffered in return. She scolded him, reminding him that anger shows through and it won't help him get the part. There was the girl sitting next to me, rocking back and forth as she muttered the lines from the wrinkled slip we were each given with the short monologue typed out. I briefly considered memorizing my lines, but I also experienced butterflies every time I repeated it silently in my chair that I decided to just read it when the time came. I became one of the many nonchalantly reading their books or checking their twitter feed or playing games on their iPhone. Cool cats, if you will, not caring about something like rehearsal when it was just an extra gig for goodness' sakes.
Did I mention the sexy boys scattered about the room? Now you know, ladies and gay boy friends, where to go to find the cute men lingering about in their unlaced boots and their striped beanies and stubble laced angular faces. There were a lot less females in the room (sweet! Increase my own chances) and for some reason the women that were there had consistently bad hair. Seriously bad hair. I avoided conversation, mostly because I enjoyed observing in silence but also because I could feel how desperately the two guys behind me in line wanted to engage. If they had just played it a little more cool, maybe I would have jumped into the banter zone, but I just did not want to get sucked in when there was literally nowhere to turn. Oh, yes, after about 30 or so minutes in the dingy room, I eventually got called out to stand in a line against a barren wall that moved surprisingly fast. And the blowhard that had zero volume control yelling into his cell phone with his Long Island accent? The one that announced to his buddy on the other line that he did not get Macbeth but was hopeful about this HBO gig approximately eight times? That guy, with his tufts of gray hair tickling strangers as he paced around the tight room, was either the most annoying man in the room, or the most deviant. He was quickly moved to the front of the line in an effort to save everyone (including the casting girl doing all of the organizing) from his raucous rants. I mean, is it possible it was all a ploy to avoid the wait? Was there anyone else on the other line? Such gall, either way.
Finally, I was called in (before Treasure and after Sunrise—two other people I met in the audition room. Legit names, by the way.) The beautiful, older brunette woman sat at a plain white table at one end of the otherwise empty studio. “Name?” she asked. I dropped all of my bundles down, including my bike helmet that bounced a little and answered her with a grin on my face. The thing is, the woman probably thought I was on something because I could not stop smiling. I mean, here I am, a recent New York transplant who writes, and creates comics, and does hair . . .I am not an actress! So she says, with a hint of disenchantment, “Please read the script like you are being interrogated by the police.” My lines were short, but I think I delivered them well. Maybe. Maybe I did, but maybe she could tell I was amused beyond belief and didn't really want the part like a kid from Fame would want the part. And then, as if I hadn't already made a fool enough of myself just by being so gosh darn cheerful, I took it a step further.
At the end of my monologue, I raised my arms in the air like I was a champ at the end of a match, and I practically shouted, “That was my first New York audition!!” Again, a massive grin was plastered on my flushed face, so I am sure she probably found it difficult to stymy a laugh or at least a chuckle. I scooped up my things and practically skipped out of the studio, barely hearing her tell me I will receive a call this weekend if they need me.
I am so gosh darn New York sometimes!