God this is boring. How do you people do this all the time? I thought I'd have funny things to talk about. There's nothing funny here. The couch is red and has big red buttons. The chairs in the waiting area are 60s style and really uncomfortable. Blah, blah, blah.
BUT, yesterday was exciting. Yesterday I had an adventure. Would you care to hear about it? No choice, here goes. I found an audition for a a film on Craigslist a few weeks ago and reluctantly submitted. Normally Craigslist creeps me out, but occaisionally they do have really legit postings, so I gave it a shot. I got an email back from the guy saying "send pics". Uh-oh...creeeeepyville here we come. But, after I sent him my headshots I received an email back with his IMDB credits. Okay, legit. So I get an audition for the film, and it's in Brooklyn, no biggie, I'm a big girl, I can have outer-bourough adventures. It's in Bed-Stuy. Errrrmmmm, okay. So yesterday afternoon I take the J train to Bed Stuy. Whoops, no wait a sec, I take the J train to the Financial District and then get out, walk to the other side and take the J train back past the 4 stops I've already gone in the wrong direction and head to Bed-Stuy. Fail #1-my fault. So I get off the train and follow the directions to get to the audition. This is a loooong walk. Good thing I'm wearing my Sperry's and have my heels in a bag. Fail #2: Their fault, my redemption. This is a long walk through an interesting neighborhood. I feel like I'm walking through a Spike Lee movie. I smile at everyone so as to not play the role of "scared white person in black neighborhood". People smile back, they have cute dogs and pleasant demeanors. I relax. It's still light out. I get to the address. This photo is on the doorbell--->
It is the director's home. I'm going to die here. Fail #3: Even. I'm being melodramatic. He's having a casting at his home. He comes to the door, looks nice, seems professional (except that he's wearing a tight, vneck shirt that exposes part of his chest. At least he seems more gay than serial killer). We go upstairs and into the "waiting room". Oh, holy hell. I'm the only white girl. These are some GHETTO black chicks. How are we up for the same part? It immediately feels like 1st grade again, when I was the only white girl in my class. If it weren't for chubby, smelly Chris I'd have been the only white person in my class. (Edit: My current roommate, and lifelong friend has pointed out to me that she was also in Miss Hugget's-with her perfect handwriting-1st grade class. I pointed out that leaving halfway through the year rendered her useless to me, but she insisted that I edit the post. So I used her favorite color. We're in love. Obviously) I'm not trying to be racist, I just feel very out of place. The walls are painted in flourescent colors (VERY lime green, VERY eye-popping blue) and there's a movie on the tv...something with Denzel Washington. The girls have press-on nails and large tattoos on their chests/arms. It's all such a cliche. Of course I wore the preppiest thing I own today. Of course. I think about how I'm reading "Malcom X" by Alex Haley and whether or not I really am the devil. I decide to stop thinking about ridiculous things and focus on just getting this part. Because if I get it I can come to Bed-Stuy for filming...and I love Bed-Stuy now.
I tried to get you guys a picture of what these girls looked like, but it seems like a bad idea to google image search "ghetto" or "black chicks" at my first day in a new temp position. In other news, I just successfully transferred a call to a voicemail for one person and answered another line before it rang twice. I'm super-reception Adria. Remember, little things.
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