Audition #208

...or is it #209? After a while, you lose count. It's usually a different director, a different show, and a different sought-after role, but it's always the same game. Everyone huddling over their audition forms; dutifully completing them; carefully attaching their resumes and headshots; and then quickly handing them in, hoping that script readings will occur on a "first come, first served" basis. They usually don't. God only knows on what basis directors assign pairings and scenes. Case in point: I read for a 75-year old woman last night. Unless we're talking Hollywood caliber special effects, I don't see it happening. But I'm getting ahead of myself. So, I'm sitting there in the audience -- paperwork done, script in hand -- and I can't help but smile at the familiarity of the scene; not the one I'm going to read but the one I'm actually in. There's the diva and her male counterpart, the divo; both talking loudly and flashing their headshots around like it's time for show-and-tell. There's the out-of-the-closet guy...and you know what I mean. There's the little kid with her asks-way-too-many-questions stage mother. There's the blonde know-it-all, who clearly thinks she's the director and tries to "help" everyone else with their scenes. There's the critics, whispering -- and the term is used loosely -- their critiques on the front row. There's the sneaks, planning their hostile take-over of your role. There's the group of teens who talk entirely too much; there's the middle-aged woman who is entirely too quiet. And then there's me, wondering why I come to these things and thinking how I might skip the next one. But then my scene is called, and as I step onstage I realize that, once again, I've lied to myself. I will definitely come to the next audition...and to the one after that. I'll come because I love it -- and sometimes, it loves me back. We'll see how this one turns out when the cast list is announced tomorrow.