Humble Beginnings

I was so excited to get back into the audition circuit that I woke myself up with the sun.

Actually, the sun just wakes me up because my bed is next to a curtain-less window that faces east and if I don't wake up my face will melt. Nonetheless, it was a convenience more than a nuisance on this day. Since I am once again an unrepresented nobody, I'm back to early mornings of fending for myself among the non-union hopefuls, showing up early to sign up for a chance at the big, broad way.

I threw on an outfit that said, "I got this," (which means I currently own three outfits and this one was the least wrinkled) and strutted to the train. On my way up the stairs to the platform, I tumbled forward and fell flat to the stairs. I thought about God and why he wanted me to fail. I laid there for a second to let the drama sink in. Then, I brushed myself off with a swipe of resilience and put in my headphones to drown out the doubt.

I arrived to the audition studio one hour before sign-ups began. 16 people were in line. Great. Not only did I tell myself I didn't have time to get coffee, but only 3 of those 16 were union and would get to sign up before me. Within the group of 16 was one old man, four nerdy types, and three bros who wanted everyone to recognize their presence. They seem to have woken up that morning with a marketing degree and thought, "Hey, I could be an actor. I have nice hair."

They will likely book it.

There was also one 19 year old white girl, who has either never seen The Book of Mormon or really just didn't have any f*cks to give.

I feel you, girl.

I signed up for a later appointment to give myself time to print new resumes. As I stood in FedEx stapling my newly designed "I'm a single actor" resumes to my "I used to be this young" headshots, I noticed something strange. Normally, the agent's contact information would be at the top and bottom of my resume. As a single actor, my own e-mail address and phone number glow below my name. But that wasn't my phone number.

It was my mother's.

I didn't even know my own phone number. I took the stack of hot-off-the-press mommy's cell resumes and threw them in the trash. I had no time to go back and edit my resume on my computer, so I had to call in a favor...to Chicago. Poetic justice. My graphic designing Best Friend Work Friend pulled through for me and edited the snafu before I could even pour the zero-calorie sweetener into my Starbucks.

I was golden. I went back to my audition just after lunch with a spring in my step. I could practically taste the production contract as I smirked at the 10 schmucks in line behind me. Though they all had agent's letterheads on their resumes, they were SCHMUCKS I SAY!

I entered the room, gave a glowing smile, and belted higher than I had ever belted. I sounded like an angel.

The casting assistant looked up only once and thanked me for coming in a well rehearsed congenial tone.

So this is what the cold hard ground feels like. You were right, T-Swift.

Please nobody call my mom,

TJB: Making It