The envelope, please

I know a guy who actually enjoys auditions. For him, they’re recreational, something fun to do on a lazy summer afternoon. Like the time he slid across the floor on his knees at the end of a singing audition, but miscalculated and ended up wedged between the director’s legs. Bam! The director didn’t hire him, but the look on that woman’s face, oh my god. Priceless.

Last month I attended two auditions: a unified audition in Atlanta and a season audition in Blowing Rock. It would be fair to say that I blew the unified audition, no excuses, but it would be equally fair to say that I nailed it in Blowing Rock. Neither audition has panned out, however, which is to say that nobody has called. Yet.

It’s the yet factor that makes these things endurable for people like me, the solace of knowing that no news immediately after an audition is just that. No news. Witness the fact that it took nine months for The Alliance to call after last year’s unifieds – nine months – and while I’d have preferred a less delayed response, it’s nice to know that my headshot wasn’t being used to plug a crack in Jody Feldman’s wall. It’s nice to know that, even when they don’t chase me into the wing after an audition, contracts and pens at the ready, their first choices do get better offers once in a while, or end up in jail, or die.