I tried to be an actress.
It seemed like a natural step for me. I wrote, I performed improv, I was not terrible looking, so why not try my hand at acting? Why not give it all up to the nebulously glamorous world of local commercials?
Auditions, that’s why.
I went to one. One. I was lucky enough to be sent out for an improv-based gig, and was even luckier to get to go in with a couple friends of mine. When we got there, I guess I didn’t really put it together that they might want a photo of me that was not photoshopped, and the woman behind the check-in desk took a polaroid of me. From below. In fluorescent lighting.
I can only imagine what a beauty I must have looked like. I’m not photogenic, but she tried her hardest to make me look the worst I possibly could.
We moved into the audition room with myself, my two friends Alicia and Nick, and a couple of other hopefuls. We went up in groups of two and improvised scenes together, so while watching several other people try their hardest to be funny (here’s some news: it didn’t happen for them), I got a little bored. I leaned back against the wall.
And then I fell through the wall.
Turns out, the wall was not a wall, it was a ballroom divider that hotels use to break rooms down. It was not well put-together, and even the slightest pressure made it give way, with me on it. I went heels over ass into the dark ballroom next door. The wall creaked and made a popping sound when it split, so everyone was sure to look my way while I was splayed like a roadkill stork. I scrambled to my feet–with no help, thank you–and tried to put the wall back together without making eye contact with anyone.
My friends were no help. Alicia was on camera, mid-scene at the time, staring wide-eyed in horror at watching her best friend fucking blow it before she even said a word. Nick had to sit down he was laughing so hard. The casting director and camera man just glared at me for having the gall to make an ass of myself.
I put the wall back together as quickly as I could, but hope was pretty much lost by then.
When it was my turn to go up and improvise, I had to go with Nick. He was still laughing at my misfortune, and if Nick laughs–I laugh. That’s how it goes.
The casting director gave us our scene, called for action, and we both took one look at each other and started to laugh.
That’s part 1 of Why You’ll Never See My Dumb Ass On Screen.
It gets worse…