Intel Audition

Got the call from my agent while I was still in my PJs debating whether I should go back to bed after I finish my bowl of cereal.

"Can you make an audition at 4 this afternoon? Print, for Intel, pays [pretty good amount]"

You bet I can make it. Yes, while it is true that my throat hurts from staying out 'til 4 the evening before and I can barely keep my eyes open and I have to be home by 5:30 to film another audition with my sister (where we play twins, exciting) and I really really really hate driving but I can make it. I mean, seriously, how lucky am I that I even have the opportunity to drive to LA and audition for a huge print commercial? How fortunate that someone out there thought my face could be worthy to put in ads? How blessed that I can afford to not work (for now) and have the time, the car to do this? I sucked up whatever handful amount of energy that remained in my body, downed a hot cup of green tea and prepared for my long drive to Santa Monica.

After parking, I strolled, with my headshot in one hand and paper with the address in the other, to the casting studio. My heels clacked along the sidewalk. I like the way high heels sound when I walk. They sound like grown up. Once there, I took a deep breath, opened the door and walked into the casting studio like I owned the place. The obligatory scan from other actresses in the room follows suit as I sign my name to the check in list. I sit and start prepping my headshot and resume only to have the girl next to me kindly inform me that I actually don't need them. She gestures to the sign that clearly states this, complete with a highlighted bold font. Oh. I'm kind of new to this. I guess.

The man sitting by the sign in sheet starts calling girls in. I recognize a couple of them. Hey, she was in that movie. Whoa, she did that ad campaign. One girl, Joy Osmanski, was amazingly quirky and cool and the best thing in this one movie, White on Rice and she was here! I wasn't sure if I should approach her and be all fanatical about her role when I should actually be her peer. Weird.

When I get my name called, I go into this small room where all these ladies (and one gentleman) are sitting and waiting. I'm number 354. One by one, they go up in front of the backdrop and get their pictures taken.

"Small smile. Bigger. Bigger," the photographer, a bald man, commands.

So fleeting, the actual time that you get to perform. Your work has to come out in that one flash of the camera, one click of the button. You either have what they're looking for, or you don't.

It's finally my turn and I clomp to the backdrop. The photographer stares at me. He scrutinizes my twitching lips and my antsy eyes.

"You're new, aren't you." He inquires as his camera continues clicking away.

Am I that obvious?

"Put your hair down." He orders, taking more pictures of me than he had of the other gals.

Today would have been a good day to wash my hair.

After a few more clicks, he sends me on my way.

"See you around, Janice," he winks.

Welcome to my first legit audition given to me by an agency in over two years.