My First Audition for Anything at Hipster College

Let’s talk about theater and things that aren’t supposed to happen.

If you sign up for an audition, even if it’s just “for practice and/or experience,” then you’re supposed to make it to that audition slot and not go to a women’s soccer game.

If you go to SLC, then the women’s soccer team won’t typically win 9-1; actually, the score might have been different, since I had to leave early.

If you have to reschedule your audition, then there typically won’t be another spot open, especially not at an acting-intensive school like mine.

If you walk in the theater doors having practiced your memorized monologue once in the shower, then the audition isn’t supposed to go well.

If you’re a first year in the Playwright’s Gym course, then you are strongly encouraged not to audition for big roles, because you have four more years to go for the spotlight.

If you’re a first year student who is a decent but not fabulous actor, who relies on your strong voice and energy rather than “acting technique,” since the only acting technique is what do you want out of your scene partner’s character, then you’re not supposed to get a phone call about anything.

But sometimes life doesn’t abide by the logical rules by which you constrain yourself. 

Today were the auditions for Hipster College’s fall semester plays, including The Green Dress, Peer Gynt, and six or seven other plays. You read that correctly: six or seven. My high school did two plays a year with a playwright festival in the spring. I’m not in high school anymore.

SLC is full of theater kids. The department is massive, with 20+ faculty members (speculation), 30+ courses (speculation), and hundreds of student actors (the most precise speculation thus far). As a tiny little first year, I went back and forth on whether or not I should audition. I didn’t really have a prepared monologue, except that that was a lie because I had a memorized (more so than prepared) monologue for my acting class tomorrow. My Don (academic advisor) warned us not to audition for major roles, since the work-load in her playwriting class would be too much coupled with line memorization. Then again, my thespian driven friend reminded me that gaining experience wouldn’t be a bad thing. “Audition practice,” if you will. That seemed reasonable. I could always turn down the role. But if I auditioned wouldn’t I be communicating to my prospective directors that I wanted a role?

I finally decided that my likelihood of getting a role, based on my lack of preparation in juxtaposition with the other well-trained theater students around me would be slim to slimmer. I signed up for an audition spot for today at 2:40.

This morning I woke up at the crack of 11:00 to find an email waiting for me from the softball captin, reminding the team that the van going to the women’s soccer game was leaving at 2:30. I’d completely forgotten. It wasn’t a vital commitment, but I wanted to support the fall sports since I’m playing a spring sport. Yet I had an audition appointment at 2:40.

Go to the game, part of me said. You didn’t want the audition anyway.

See if there’s an alternate time for an earlier slot; you still have awhile ’til the bus leaves, the other part of me said.

The other part of me was right; there was a 1:something slot. I seized it, went to lunch, and came back to fill out paper work. This was paperwork that I was vaguely familiar with: name, year, experience in theater, regular conflicts, one-time-event conflicts, etc. I half-seriously filled out this paper, under the impression that I wasn’t going to get a role, so it didn’t really matter anyway.

Confidence: it’s a good thing.

My paperwork was copied and, for the first time ever, someone took my headshot. This was serious business, much more than I thought. Should I get a headshot? How do you take a good headshot? What had I gotten myself into?

Each actor had two minutes for their audition. Multiple directors watched each audition would pick which actors they wanted/were interested in. Basically, I walked into a rehearsal theater, lights up and everything, to act in front of not one director to pass judgments on me, but directors, stage managers, and playwrights. My paperwork was distributed. Roughly 20 people went from loud chatter to silent focus the moment I entered the room.

An introduction: Hello! I’m Em, I’m a first year, I’m originally from Columbus, and truthfully, I’m auditioning for “experience”…

Laughter. I could loosen up. This was a good environment. “What’s your monologue called?” Someone asked.

“I ate the divorce papers.”

And I started. I ate them. That’s right, I ate the divorce papers, Charles. I ate them with ketchup. And they were good.

I felt good. I had energy. I planted myself. I could hear myself being heard. I took my time. I didn’t have one Charles; that was a problem. But things were great. Things were not supposed to be going great, but they did.

So I left the audition all bushy tailed and giddy, not that I would be getting a role, but because things that aren’t really supposed to happen happened.

I went to the soccer game with the softball team. At half time, the Gryphons were up 6-1; a nice surprise when you’re told that SLC athletics stink. Watching though, there were things that I, who know very little about soccer, could point out that the other team did wrong, like not running to the ball. There was one fabulous goal on our team made from way too far away to be realistic but somehow went in. That was great.

The game ended 9-1, but I didn’t see the ending because I got a phone call from “General Auditions.”

They told me to come back for callbacks at 5:00.

Some things just aren’t supposed to happen; that’s one of those things.

I had the urge to tell everyone, like I got some incredible, unattainable job offer.

There was still a slight problem: it was 4:30. There was no way that my ride, the “Fan Van” was gonna leave the game early.

By chance, just as I was walking back into the fairly empty student section, three Seniors were leaving. So…I did what only the brave first years do…

“Hey, are you going back to campus? Yeah? I just got a call back for 5:00; is there any way I could get a ride?”

And their response was only one that only generous seniors give: “Sure!”

So I rode back to campus with three seniors. The driving was probably questionable. One of them just left in the middle of the road. The other two kindly dropped me off on campus. I raced up to the theater auditorium: not out of time pressure, but out of glee.

As I sat in the callback session, it occurred to me that the best outcome of today would be to audition, get a callback, and then not get a part. That way, I could say that I got a callback, gain all of the “experience,” and then not have the commitment of having a part my first semester of college.

So I went to my callback, where I learned that I was called back for a surrealist piece written by a grad student at Hipster College. There would be masks. There would also be a small cast. The callback sheet for the play was two pages long, and most of the kids on the list had callbacks to multiple shows. No, this callback was not like some incredible, unattainable job offer, but it still filled me with glee. Getting a part would be like some incredible, unattainable job offer, one that I really didn’t think I could handle.

I believe my ideal situation will come to be, since I was dismissed from the session half-an-hour in. I wasn’t disappointed; in fact, as I watched other girls try scenes and roles, there were some who fit the glove perfectly, whom I look forward to watching when I go see this play. I think I have some experience to gain before I’m ready for surrealist work or Peer Gynt.

So am I excluded from the theater department then? No! I’m totally roped in! With my first year seminar course and my Acting Workshop, not to mention those 50 tech-hours, I’m getting my hands dirty right away. But it’s the good kind of  metaphorical dirty. 

ENDNOTES
I'm sure you're not disappointed by the fact that there are no end notes, since this was 3.2 pages on Microsoft word.