Now here's an issue that's sure to raise the hackles of any decent citizen with a working set of hackles and too much time on his hands. I speak - as you have no doubt surmised - of those e-mails I keep getting post-audition.
For those of you outside the "biz," I should explain that a theatre audition used to be a relatively uncomplicated affair. Post-audition was a particularly nice time, when, bathed in the afterglow of the occasion, you and your audition would snuggle up together and smoke cigarettes, maybe get the munchies for some ranch dip. But that was the last you and your audition would ever see of each other, and this --
WARNING WARNING WARNING: WE ARE NOW APPROACHING MY POINT
-- is my point. Gone are the days of the commitment-free, love-you-and-leave-you-style audition. Instead, somewhere along the line, those behind the table* got the idea that -- even if they do not wish to cast you, even if they would undergo self-performed appendectomies via butter knife rather than ever look at you again -- it is their duty, as eminent persons behind tables**, to come after you, a few days later, with the Warm 'n' Fuzzy Rejection E-mail. It goes like this:
Dear [YOUR NAME],
Thank you sooooooo much for coming out to our recent auditions for [SOME SHORT PLAY FESTIVAL NO ONE WILL EVER HEAR OF AGAIN, FEATURING ENDLESS 5-MINUTE POLEMICS EVIDENTLY WRITTEN BY DRUNKEN HAMSTERS, PURPORTEDLY ON FEMINISM, ALTHOUGH ACTUALLY THEY JUST CONSIST OF PEOPLE HOLLERING ANGLO-SAXONISMS FOR DELICATE BODILY PARTS AT EACH OTHER, AND, IF WE ARE AT ALL LUCKY, WHIPPED CREAM (DUH, FOR TO REPRESENT OUTRAGE, STUPID)]. Unfortunately, we cannot use you for this production, but just know it doesn't mean you're not awesome!!!
[ARTISTIC EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR WHO SPELLS HER NAME IN ALL LOWERCASE LETTERS, AS A PROTEST AGAINST THE RAMPANT USE OF IRREGULAR BAR CODES ON INSTANT PUDDING]***
It doesn't mean you're not awesome.
Suffice it to say, it would not bother me in the slightest if I were never to get another such e-mail proclaiming my awesomeness again. In fact, I can say honestly that if a genie offered me the choice between endless riches, immortality, or never getting a you're-awesome e-mail again, I would definitely kick him in the genie crotch and take all three while he wasn't looking. This is a no-brainer.
But my point is, these e-mails have got to stop, okay, persons behind the table? I am NOT awesome, capisce?**** I do not EVER want it suggested that I am REMOTELY awesome. In fact, I routinely spread pestilence throughout pediatric wards, set fire to cute bunnies, and I NEVER UNPLUG THE TOASTER WHEN I AM FINISHED WITH IT. So THERE.
And yet - who am I kidding? This won't stop you. Nothing can stop you, short of a phaser. And I doubt even that would do the trick. No, in all likelihood, the smoky essences of your vaporized persons would simply swirl through the air to the nearest computer and write me a you're-awesome e-mail. Your power is too great, persons behind the table; I give up, you win. But in the meantime, quit sticking your wads of gum under there.
Tell you what: I'll throw this one over to you, my thespian readers. Am I off base? Hacked off at nothing? You can tell me. I might not agree with you, but if I don't, it doesn't mean you're not awesome.
* The people auditioning you are always behind a table. Actually, I suspect this is always the same table, complete with the same wads of gum under it.
** Don't scoff. Many of them hold terminal degrees in sitting behind tables.
*** When will the madness end?
**** Italian, literally, "panini."
©2009 Nicola McEldowney
The Snark Ascending