May 19, 2006

 

Cheezy Hollywood Here I Come (Day 232)

With a tug on my jeans and a last fluff of the hair I pulled open the door and walked in. The air was thick with tension and the stench of cut throat competition. I stood at the door a moment and took a quick glance around the room. White Male Mid-twenties Athletic, White Male Mid-twenties Athletic, Exotic African Female Thin, White Female Beautiful Great Body, White Female Early Twenties/Late Teens/Youthful, Stage Mom, White Female Vibrant Early Twenties, African-American Female Mid-Twenties. I smiled. No one smiled back. Eyes averted, heads turned down, one White Male Mid-twenties coughed. I looked straight ahead up a flight of stairs and listened. Nothing. I stepped to the right of the door and leaned against the wall a slight smile on my face.

Man this room is tense.

That's when I noticed the small table with 2 stacks of papers and a scattering of pens. I walked over and filled out the first:

Name. Jasmine Summerset. Age. 25. Agency. Spotz Management.

I grabbed the other paper and returned to my wall.

Spotz Management was Sammy's agent. I'd met Jillian before, but she hadn't confirmed herself as my agent in any sense so I was surprised when her secretary had called me yesterday to tell me about the audition. The casting call was for Old Navy Jeans and they were requesting "African American Women - 16yo - 24yo - Beautiful, Vibrant, Full of Energy, Confident, Good Body". I figured why not? It doesn't hurt to try and it's not like I would have a whole lot of competition. I mean they were looking in Brisbane, not to mention completely the wrong continent.

So that morning I'd risen fairly early, spent an hour or so on the internet, put together a simple "bright top & jeans" outfit, froed out my hair and set off for Brisbane's west end.

Leaning against my wall I glanced over at the Exotic African Female Thin and smiled. She glared at me like a Nubian princess being asked to do her own laundry. I chuckled to myself and slid down the wall into sitting position so I could fill out the rest of the paperwork.

I scanned the page.
Name.
Address.
Phone Number.
Agent.
Shoe size.
Height.
Chest.
Waist.
Hips.
I rolled my eyes. Good God. Let's see... Shoe size. 8. Chest. 33". Height. 5'5 1/2", always make yourself taller. Waist. 28". Hips...hips...31". Always make yourself thinner. I set the pages aside, pulled out my book and started to read.

Over the next few minutes a couple more people trickled in with the same looks of anticipation, met with the same looks of disreguard, and my single smile. Cut thoat, shmut throat, I thought. This isn't my line of work, and the best men/women will win no matter how much you glare in the waiting room.

A couple of minutes later a thin blond smoker type woman trotted down the stairs, flashed a fake smile and asked the first three who arrived to head upstairs. People glanced at each other, nodded heads and spoke a few words before the agreed first three headed up the stairs. I heard the typical audition questions and movement and then, out of nowhere a clatter which made me picture a herd of kangaroos landing on the roof. They were jumping, and everytime they jumped someone let out a distinct "woohoo!". I smiled. Of course. Old Navy commercials were always cheesy with kids running from bears or singing Christmas carols. Of course jumping in an excited cheerleader like fashion would be a logical inclusion. This continued to happen every few minutes and now and then someone would come down the stairs and leave, followed by the casting agent asking the next person to "come up".

When it was finally my turn I grabbed my bag and quickly walked up the stairs expecting to see other auditioners who had gone up before. Yet to my surprise the jumping hadn't taken place as a group but individually, people were just really loud jumpers. No herd, only me. So, just as those before me, I introduced myself, got my picture taken front and side, and did my jump.

"Wow, that jump was...perfect" she said with a smile. "We'll let you know in the next couple weeks".

I smiled to myself as I trotted down the stairs. I may not have the perfect 5'8" 115lb body for an Old Navy Jeans commercial; and as a result I may not have an ice cube's chance in hell of getting the job. But, I had given her the perfect jump.

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