So I subscribe to the Equity email list for auditions and stuff-- most often the audition notices and ticket discounts are for Toronto, but once in a while something pops up closer to me.
So. There's a theatre in Calgary which is asking for submissions for generals. And it just so happens that I had the worst audition of my life there a few years ago.
But wait! Some of you may be asking. What are "generals"?
Well, Virginia, I'm glad you asked. Every year or two years, theatre companies will hold general auditions, in which they invite people whose work they aren't familiar with to come and audition for them. Union houses like this one are obligated by Equity to give Equity actors a chance to be seen, at least every two years. The plus: you get to go in and be seen by the artistic director. And often other artistic directors in town will tag along to see actors. The cons: really, by the time they do generals, many theatres have already cast their season. Unless they're looking for something ultra-specific, it's less likely you'll get cast in the upcoming season.
Anyway, it's an audition. You go in, hand them your picture, and do two monologues for them, everyone thanks each other, and you leave. What could possibly go wrong?
Flash back a couple of years ago. Actually, maybe about 5 or 6 years ago. I'd been trying to get out-of-town auditions, and had managed to get one with this company. I was feeling pretty proud of my independence as I took the Greyhound down to Calgary the day before the audition. I was staying with a friend, I was familiar with the bus routes into downtown, I'd been working on my monologues for a while. I was pretty sure I was set.
The morning of, I got up nice and early to eat breakfast and get dressed. I was going for that weird eclectic look that only people in movies seem to be able to pull off-- big doc boots, black skirt with a print, some kind of top. The friend I was staying with had cats, and thus I had been extra careful to keep my clothes away from them. But as I zipped up my skirt, I noticed it had a little crease in it. I spotted an iron and ironing board in the kitchen, and decided I had plenty of time to give it a go. I heated up the iron and went to town.
Big mistake. It was like the iron had a cat in it or something. My first pass across my black skirt left a white furry trail.Then, perhaps not believing that this could really be happening, I took another pass at the skirt. Yep. Hot wide streaks of white cat hair.
While desperately looking for some tape to de-hair my skirt, I realized that I was missing my bus. No problem, I thought. That bus comes every 15 minutes. Which was true. When I'd been taking it the previous summer during rush hour. During regular time, it was one of those random buses that seem to come at the whim of the driver. But I didn't realize that as I was cheerfully walking through the sunshine towards the bus stop, headshot my lucky purple folder in my bag. As far as I was concerned, I had plenty of time.
Plenty of time passed. I kept checking my watch, realizing that the chances of my getting to this audition on time were decreasing by the second. This was before I had a cell phone, so if I was going to call a cab, I needed a public phone. I looked around...
Now, the funny thing about this bus stop is it is literally in the middle of nowhere. Even though it's in the middle of a residential neighborhood, there aren't really even houses by it. The only place of business nearby that might potentially have a phone was across the street. I squinted to see what it was. There certainly seemed to be a lineup outside the place, anyway.
That's right, it was an abortion clinic. And it wasn't a lineup, those were protesters hassling people going into the clinic. I immediately flashed back to my days of watching Degrassi Jr. High, when one of the twins is going into the clinic and all those people were shoving rubber fetus dolls at them.
Should I go into the abortion clinic and ask to use their phone? I wondered. Do I show the protesters my headshots and tell them I really just need to call a cab? That's probably the oldest trick in the book for avoiding abortion protesters on your way into the clinic. Plus I thought the people in the clinic would think I was weird. Plus I didn't want the hassle.
I stood there, contemplating this for some time, as my audition time inched ever closer...
OK, that's enough typing for now. I'll finish this fascinating tome later!
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