In between a very busy schedule of two jobs and many medical
appointments (not mentioning the things really weighing me down), I applied for
an acting role in a play. It was a part for a humorous narrator. I was invited
to audition. Amazingly, the audition was on an evening that I don’t work, but the
evening I do try to get to a poetry workshop that I find nourishing in a few
areas (not only my writing). The week before, the workshop didn’t meet. I
wanted it all. But I chose to go to the audition in hopes I’d be in and out
early and get to the workshop too (even without a poem). Usually, after the
poetry, some of us go out to eat. It is often at a Thai restaurant that I’ve
grown to love. Like Pavlov’s dogs, when I think of the workshop, my mouth
salivates for that food which makes my tongue tingle with all kinds of magical
herbs. And I enjoy the company.
When I got to 8th Avenue and 47th Street
and saw the address, I was a bit taken aback that it was the creepiest building
on the block. The actor in me forged ahead. I had a choice of
an elevator or the stairs. It was only the 2nd floor, and it seemed
safer to climb the stairs. Well, the 2nd floor was 5 flights up.
Another woman entered a few seconds behind me. If she’d been there when I
arrived, maybe we would’ve chanced the elevator together. So huffing up the
stairs, we reach a door that says to take the elevator. I couldn’t fuckin’
believe it. I knocked on the door. Again. I knock louder. A man opens it and we
enter.
When the man in charge of the crowd hears we are there for the
role of narrator, he says that there are no sides (pages of the script) left
because so many people are there for the part of narrator. He has us sign in
and take a seat. There were lots of people in a small auditorium. I wondered if
I should bother staying. I wanted to be with the poetry people. I really missed
being there. But I stayed. I looked around. I may have been the oldest person
in the room. I wanted to see that as an advantage. I probably knew more. I was older than they asked for but not in terms of appearance,
and in acting, that’s what matters.
At some point, the man in charge asked those with sides for
the narrator to share them with those who needed to look at them. I got the
pages. I read them twice and thought a black gay man was who they had in mind
for this. I really wondered if I should stay. Then the man in charge told us
that when we go in, to make it our own and stray from the script a bit if we
wanted to. That freed me up. I could do this as me. I didn’t have to worry
about how much of a black gay man I wasn’t.
The night went on and on. I knew I’d never make it to the
workshop. At this point I’d have been glad to make it to the eating out
afterwards part.
They must’ve gotten tired of hearing auditions for the
narrator, because the order of calling people changed and was now not going by
the time we entered. I was starting to have to accept that I wouldn’t make it
to the eating part either.
Though the auditions were supposed to happen within 2 hours,
they rented a 3rd hour when they saw how many people came. I was called in
the end of the 3rd hour. I was taken in as a group of 5. There were
7 minutes left until the end of the 3rd hour. I felt like I wasted
my night, but tried to give it all I had left. They asked me to audition with
another person trying for the same part. We shared lines. They stopped us
before we got a third of the way through. My face must’ve looked like “you’re
fuckin’ kidding me. I waited almost 3 hours for less than a minute?” though I
really tried for it to look like “thank you very much.” The woman auditioning
us said, “Don’t be discouraged. We are rushing because of the time, not your
performances. We will have callbacks.” Then she said to me, “I like your
accent.”
“It’s Bronx,” I said.
We’ll see what happens. I’ll likely keep you posted. Meanwhile, I am so ready for Thai food with the poets.
