Hi.
So.
I'm kind of sore.
It could end up being worth it if I can milk the comedy potential out of the pain - except for the fact that this isn't a black-and-white film and a piano hasn't just fallen on my head from five stories up.
So yeah, this might not be worth it.
But, like every good adult male, I have miniscule injuries, and God-or-whatever help me, I'm going to moan about them as if parts of my body are falling off.
"OW! Oh no! I twisted my wrist! This must be what GANGRENE FEELS LIKE!!!...What's that Doctor? Maggots?! Oh *cough*, no no, I guess I can just *cough* power through it! Like the really tough manly man that I am! ROAR!"
So without any further dudes, I present to you an epic tale of the highs, lows, broken glass and ill-fitting hoodies of my last week...all told...through a tour of my body parts! God you're all going to love this.
Sick bitches.
And it's all in ascending order! Effing crazy!
THURSDAY: My First Ever Real Audition (MAMMA MIA - International Tour)
B.I.: Before Injury
Clyde Auditorium, Glasgow. 9am.
"I really wish I'd gone to bed a little earlier." Thank God(-or-whatever) for adrenaline, because by now I have had 5 hours sleep, no breakfast, and have been up since 6:30. It. Is. Freezing. Who knew Glasgow in October in a wide-open river-adjacent stretch of land outside would be this cold? I've got my biggest scarf on, and gloves, but they're not really helping (at one point I hear a sneeze and then a sniff, and turn to say "bless you" to the guy behind me before realising it was my scarf sneezing. I don't bless it. People would think I was crazy. Blessing a scarf, jeez. Not like I'm a priest or anything - they get away with blessing all sorts of crap. Bread discs for example).
These sorts of things (I imagine, this is my first one), are probably always this early. I feel like I'm one of those people waiting in the queue to audition for X-Factor, except this queue is much, much shorter (about 40 people in front of me), and I'm by myself, which no one auditioning for X-Factor ever seems to be. And suddenly all of my mocking of X-Factor contestants goes up in smoke as I realise:
They must have more friends than me.
Oh God(-O-W), this is just tragic. I don't know anyone here. A couple of castmates were going to be here, but they're not. Those girls in front of me are speculating on what everyone else is singing. Talk to them! Casually! Risk looking like that guy who places himself in the conversations of complete strangers.
So they're quite nice. Ish. Maybe. They don't much care for my choice of song (not everyone is a Celine Dion fan, fine), but I don't much care for their choice in footwear. One of them seems to have travelled from London (crazy! Are they not doing this anywhere else?), and both of them have agents! I feel like the little poor girl in films, watching the older, more sophisticated ladies in their high heels and make-up, and dreaming of one day being like them. Agents?! Gee willikers!
"I did say to Clive that I could always do the closed-casting in London, but he said 'Darling (her real name, I guess), you can do the open-call, or you can pay £80 for the closed-call. Either way, you're a shoe-in, as always.'" (I can just imagine her agent charging a "bullshit tariff". I wonder if that's taxable, though it's hard to imagine anyone ever using the phrase "bullshit tax".)
Eventually they walk off to talk to people further back in the queue than me. BURN! By now, though, the 40 people in the queue in front has gone up to 50 from people having their friends show up and just skip right in front of everyone else (queue-jumping. How professional. Don't worry, the Universe won't let them succeed). The queue behind me is almost triple that. Which, I guess, would make it nearly 150-strong.
A man, a security-guard-looking man in a security-guard-looking-long-coat (O.M.G., is Beyonce here?!), walks down the queue, and tells us that if we need to go to the toilet we are to go now. Never before has that sentence caused such major panic. I'm looking around, and there are scores of people freaking out. Because someone said something to them. And suddenly, of course, everyone needs to go to the toilet, but you can see the oddest resolve in peoples' eyes -"NO! Going to the toilet now would be weak! WEAK!!!"- and nobody makes a move.
Twenty minutes pass, the cold gets worse, and I'm shaking a little, the cause of which I can't tell. It could be nerves, it could just be the cold. The fact that my shoes are filling with my pee gives me the indication that it's the nerves, but then that could just be because that man asked if I needed the toilet.
The man is back, and this time he's asking all performers to stand to one side of the queue. Again, panic. People freak out, and go completely silent. All apart from me.
"Oh, jeez, sorry!"
I collide (just a little) with the guy behind me. I turn to see that he's a little younger than me, a little taller, and much better dressed for the weather. He doesn't say much, but the girl right behind him does, and pretty soon the three of us are chatting about how worked up everyone seems to be. They're both dancers, they're both funny, and they both remind me of old friends that I haven't seen enough of lately. Best of all, as the man walks down the line and hands out numbered raffle tickets, we discover they're in the same group as I am.
Once we go in and register, they start taking people in groups of 20. We're in the third group. I'm number 52, and they're on right after me. From the first group we learn that we're auditioning on the main stage in the venue, which is huge, and has awful acoustics (I'm sure they're just blowing that out of proportion). Sarah, Ally and I are still having a great laugh, but there's the feeling that the nerves are just being held at bay. The rest of the room is still freaky. Other Girl from earlier has gone over to lean her forehead against a wall and vocally warm-up. Five minutes later, she quickly moves on to meowing loudly, over and over.
"MEOW!"
Church-giggles set in. She's such a wanker.
The second group go in.
"MEOW!"
It's still going. She's totally just trying to psych everyone out. This can't be beneficial.
"MEOW!"
And I'm actually laughing at her now. Stop it! Stop. It.
Clyde Auditorium, Glasgow. 10:30am
We're standing outside the theatre now, in a queue, waiting to go in. I can't believe how nervous I'm not! This never happens! I'm always a bag of wrecks! Wait, no, that makes no sense. Wrecks aren't things. Except for shipwrecks. Wow. I'm always a bag of shipwrecks! Who knew?!
I guess I haven't had the chance to overthink things or get myself worked up, because of these two. Turns out you can have a lot of laughs over things that rhyme with "LOL". And now we're going in. It's like Chorus Line, except Michael Douglas isn't here, and there are no mirrors. Just a big stage, a piano, and the audition panel. We're going to wait in the wings til it's our turn, and then we go out, sing, leave. We watch the others, and decide that everyone is standing too far back. We're going to stand further forward. As far forward as we can.
So it gets to my turn, and I go out.
"And what are you singing, Andi?"
"I Drove All Night."
He repeats it in a murmur. Oh crap! I didn't say who the artist is. CRAP! Say it now! No, it's too late. Damn, damn, crapitty damn!
I click out the tempo for the pianist (oh yeah, check me out, the consummate professional).
"Can you stand a little further back, please?"
CRAP!
I start singing. Wow, the acoustics in here are really BAD. Can they hear me? I can't! Did I just...I just missed a word. F*&%! Make it up, make it up, don't show it...
We get out of there, and we're asked to stand in our group over to one side, away from the other auditonees. The casting director comes towards us and has a pile of our CVs in his hands. There are some blue admin slips I can see near the back (the boys had the blue ones). He starts saying numbers and names, and I'm ready to turn round and head out the door behind me. It's never my number. I'm preparing myself with the usual: "Oh well, not this time"; "At least I had the experience"; "I knew I didn't do very well anyway".
"Number 52"
And my name! MY NAME! It's never my name! Is that actually my name?! They've called the wrong person...! I got a callback! For the tour of the West End production! They think I'm a good enough singer for the West End! WHAT THE HELL?! I GOT A CALLBACK! Why am I not jumping up and down and screaming in joy right now?!
Oh. Other people that didn't get it. Right.
Yeah, don't jump.
Or scream.
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