My audition time was at 3pm. I stopped at the Antique Cafe and ordered a green tea. Two men came up beside me and spoke to a man wearing sunglasses, seated at a table. From the way the two men greeted the man wearing sunglasses I thought he was famous or just a very important person. A person in front of me, holding a plate of salmon, over rice pilaf and sauteed vegetables, paid for his meal and mentioned something about the jar of fudge cookies smartly placed right by the cash register. He mentioned it to a woman who was in front of him, who looked like she had some work done to her face and I only noticed it because I thought she was wearing too much make-up (I judge people), and out of nowhere I got this feeling like I was dressed in rags at a posh dining affair. It was a feeling of inferiorotiy. Insecurity. I began to wonder what label I was wearing and whether it was sticking out as if one person could grab my collar fold it back and say,
“He’s wearing Old Navy!”
“It says it right here!
“And it’s on sale!!!!!
“HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!”
Which doesn’t happen ever.
I got my tea, paid 2.50, and moved through the dining room toward the exit pushing the door too hard and while it smacked into a looming pole, I looked to my right at a table with “Antique Cafe” business cards propped up near a bowl of lemons. I thought I should take one. I thought we were all supposed to take one but left the cafe wondering why they would offer people lemons and I imagined people standing outside, talking and smiling and eating sandwiches and vegetables, squeezing half a lemon, drizzling juice over their plates.
At 2:15, I arrived at the building of my audition, smoked a cigarette, then lit another cigarette from the cherry of my last cigarette; smoked half of that one and threw it out.
Waiting for the elevator I opened the little sippy-notch of my “to-go” tea and realized immediately that this was NOT green tea. Roibus-Rhombus-Roimbus- That fuckin tea where they sweep all the fruity teas together off the floor and put it into a giant sack. That’s what I got.
I got off on the 7th floor. Signed in. Warmed up. Warmed up again. Looked over my sides. Warmed up one more time and when the prompter said my name incorrectly, I walked into the room.
Here’s hoping for a call-back.