The first casting.

Yesterday I got frustrated. My fringe was in my eyeballs. My mom usually cuts it for me, she’s good at it. I figure it cant be too hard, and so I attack it. Nothing to lose, kamikaze style! Well I had a lot to lose. Approximately two inches of my fringe. It sloped from an inch above my right eyebrow to the corner of my left lower lid. Oops.
I’m a little shocked. A little horrified. Thirty seconds later I receive an sms. “casting tomorrow for a soda company.”
So I go to a hairdresser immediately. She tells me she can’t save it. She cuts. I want to cry.
I look like something out of Star Trek. 80’s sci-fi. I try to be positive. At least you can see my eyebrows, that’s good because I express myself through them.

My alarm goes off at 6am.
I shower, I attempt to dry my hair quietly, not possible.
I get dressed, cant decide if I’m under dressed or over dressed. I put on some makeup, something which I’ll never get used to.
I’ve gotten up too early, I go back to sleep for another hour.
Wake up at eight, call a rikki, he’s on my street so I have to run. I forget my hair clip.

I arrive half an hour early.
The doorway is small, a large person would have to go through it sideways. There is a yellowing piece of grubby paper stuck to the inside of the glass door which reads “casting studio” I walk up the stairs. An alarm goes off, I’m wondering if I’m too early and the I’ve set the alarm off. I realize it’s a car outside. I walk into a room, fairly large, chairs lined up all along the wall and a few counters to the right where scattered arty looking people sit amongst many pens and newspaper cuttings boasting well made film and well performed theatre. I walk to a desk, looking for something, a form, anything. A pretty lady smiles and say that I should sit down, she’ll give me a form just now. I’m embarrassed and try to save myself by explaining it’s my first casting. She doesn’t care. My humiliation is suddenly compounded by my ridiculous fringe. I cower to a chair. I see a girl also sitting on one of the navy plastic chairs which hugs the wall. She’s a pretty girl, ordinary, short, sharp features, shorts and high heels, dark makeup, a vast contrast to my own. A possible friend? I say hello, a big smile, toothy grin. Showing my nervousness, hoping she’ll reassure me. She doesn’t. She stares at me, she takes in everything about me. I can feel her eyes surveying my shoes, my jeans which are a little too short, my shirt which is a little too unusual, my hair which is just plain stupid, my face which is vulnerable. She makes the kill. She smiles, a smirk, not a hello smile. A satisfied smile. She knows that I don’t have a chance, and in one little glimmer, one little upturned lip, she buckles my self esteem. She then looks away, satisfied that she’s done her worst.

I am still smiling. Still excited, still curious. I wonder if the girl is just shy, I make excuses for her rude behavior in my head. She’s nervous. She’s just quiet. She’s having a bad day. We each fill out a form, I enquire the date. She tells me 24th, but she’s written 22nd. We are given numbers, I am number two. We wait. Two more girls arrive. One blond, I think I recognize her. She smiles at me, also a smirk, with one look and a small shrug she has asked the first girl who I am, the first girl shrugs and rolls her eyes. The third girl has curly black hair, too much makeup and also wears shorts. They all wear high heels, I am wearing slops. We sit. They talk, I try to join in, they ignore me. A man explains what we have to do, he mentions a flat trolley. He walks away, the girls snigger, I take a bold strand and say the only thing which enters my mind “We have to stand on a trolley?” the room goes quiet. I’m staring at the back of the first girl’s head, I’m grinning, hoping to make a friend. She turns slowly. Deliberately so that I can see her contempt. The others shift in their seats so that they can see how much damage this girl can do to me. She looks at me, another up and down, reassessing her original calm and collected idea that I am no threat. She does not change her mind. She says nothing. She turns back to the girls slowly. And she laughs, two little ha ha’s. And she stops. And then the three of them burst out laughing. I can feel my face turn warm, I can feel a slight dampness to my previously dry eyeballs. I can imagine how stupid I look with this BeeGees hairdo. I want to cry. But I focus. I decide to use this in my performance. Stanislavski.

The man comes out and he calls in number one. Thank god she’s gone. More girls arrive and get numbers and sit down, saying hi to the other girls and inspecting me with their eyes. The man comes out, he calls me and the black haired girl into the room. we have to pull the rope on either side of the trolley. I do my bit, and then it’s my turn to audition, and the two girls. The horrid ones. They are sitting there and I have to perform. And I want to kick myself for letting this get to me, but it does. I feel shy, I feel unable, I don’t give it my all, I hold back, I mess up, I retake, I try a little harder, I can feel their eyes, judging my performance and suddenly, I feel so armature, so alone, so angry, so disappointed with my choice in career. And then it’s over and I leave.

I walk from Loop street all the way to Marmion. It’s a long walk, it begins to rain, I hope that no one can see my eyes become blurry. I stop for coffee at a café. I want to cry.

No one is friendly unless you have met them previously in the different town.

I have met one gay man.

I have seen one dead squirrel.

I have walked my land lady’s dog and refused to pick up its poop.

I have cried on a boulder by the sea.

I have had cramps in my feet from the cold water.

I have seen a man with no front teeth.

I feel diminished by the beauty of the other women here.

I wish I had done accounting.