"We'll Let You Know"

Written October Somethingth (about a week ago):

I had an audition today -
Broke the cherry!
Preparing for an audition involves memorizing your lines (all 4 of 'em).
The next step is to repeat those so many times that they no longer bear meaning as sentences.
Which I did.
Then, I entered the abandoned train yard and found the room with the other hopefuls.
Louts.
When you enter the audition ante-chamber, this is what happens:
A roomful of people with a similar ethnicity and age demographic to your own look up.
Kinda.
They do a half look up before resetting their heads to the exact position they were in before you got there.
I guess no one wants to get psyched out by the competition.
Maybe they just want to ensure that Rowan Atkinson didn't just walk in.
If he did, I'm sure that at least one guy would slam his script photocopy down exclaiming, "Aw, fuck this," before storming out of the room.
Anyway, I've been all coughs and sputters this week, so I wanted water.
Needed it.
Cooler was there. Hot water. Cold.
The dispensary buttons weren't working, which felt like a bad omen.
So, I'd try for some water -
They had Showcase mugs for us to use.
That was the only aspect that threw me off, really.
I wasn't nervous because I assumed I wouldn't get it anyway (my secret weapon).
So, I felt okay.
But those Showcase mugs were disconcerting.
"Showcase is a TV network on TV.
This is for TV.
...
Wish I had some water."
So, I'd periodically try the cooler again, like an idiot.
Like it wasn't working because I didn't want it enough, or I hadn't pressed the button enough times.
Waiting in the room with these set pieces was like the chemistry final.
Everyone's cramming with their notes.
Quietly clearing throats.
Disregarding everyone else while also trying to determine if they're all nervous, too.
Not a healthy vibe.
I decide to get water from the bathroom with a Showcase (TV) mug.
I grab one and start to leave when the casting assistant asks, "Paul?"
I hadn't been received in any way at this point, so it was unexpected.
What do I do with the mug now?
Is it going to have to do the scene with me?
I didn't practice with a mug.
No, just put it down, Paul.
In retrospect, I've no idea where I laid it.
On one of the guys' heads, for all I know.
Room. Camera. Black tape on the floor.
Casting director.
Casting director's hopelessly attractive assistant.
The director laughed on my first line, which was an uneventful sentence. So, a good start.
Beyond that, I have no idea how it went.
I'd do the lines and then she'd give me direction.
And sure, I maintained eye contact and nodded my head, but I'm not certain I absorbed any of her instruction.
On the fourth one she said, "Great, you got it."
Which, I realized there and then, meant one of two things:
Either I got it, or I'll never get it.
As for the part, I'm not sure if I got it.
Or if I'll ever get it.
Over a week has passed.
She did seem legitimately pleased with me, but I was one of the first on the slab.
She did ask me to rock back and forth less, citing me as 'fidgety'.
Mike Wilmot once told me that he didn't think I could play a corpse.
"The twitchy fucker. Paul whoever. Get him our of here."
So, what did we learn from this experience?
Bring your own water, good.
What else?
It's not a job interview if you don't have to discuss past jobs you weren't suited for.
Anything else anyone wants to add?
Don't describe an audition in your blog until the role has been cast.
Perfect. That's what I was looking for.
I could do the role, y'know.
I learned that, too.
While reading I thought, "This isn't hard [I'm sure it gets hard]. I could do this."
I could.