The Audition

I arrived for the audition a couple of minutes late. I’d never been to the theater before and had gotten turned around. 

“Sorry I’m late,” I said to the girl sitting behind the table. 

“No problem,” she said, as she handed me an audition form. “What part are you auditioning for?”  

She then handed me another sheet with the character names and descriptions. I looked them over and settled on Grace, who was described as a tired old lady. 

“Grace,” I said, decidedly. 

After all, I played 70 year-old Aunt Ruth in Marvin’s Room last year and won all kinds of accolades for the visible panty lines on my polyester pants. 

Yes. I could easily play a tired old lady. In fact, I could even wear the same polyester pants!  They were very comfortable. 

“Perfect,” she said as she handed me the monologue I would be performing for my audition. 

I located a spot on the floor, got comfortable and began to read the monoloue. 

After a few minutes I realized that Grace was Black. 

“O…KAY”, I thought. And kept reading. 

And noticed that Grace was an old Black woman with a deep Southern accent. Now, I can pogo stick and jump rope on stage. And roller skate. But pull off a Southern accent? Not exactly one of my talents. 

And Grace said things like, “My God say ain’t gone be no cuttin.” 

"O…KAY", I thought. And kept reading. 

Then I got to the part about how her doctor wanted her to have breast reduction surgery because her “titties” were so large. I looked down at my modest pair.

 
"O…KAY", I thought. And kept reading. 

I flipped the page over only to discover that poor Grace had injured her back because her “titties” were so monstrous. And giving birth to 5 children resulted in 180 pounds resting on her 5’2” frame. 

O…KAY. I may have lost count by then, but I think that was the 5th strike against me. Most people would have walked away at this point. 

But I’m not most people. 

So what if I didn’t have the perfect look for the role of an elderly obese Black women with a deep Southern accent and tremendously large “titties”. I was Lou Clyde, damn it. I could do this! 

I walked into the audition room overflowing with confidence. Until I noticed that they were filming the auditions. 

The humorless director instructed me to look into the camera, say my name and the part I was auditioning for. 

“My name is Lou Clyde, and I am auditioning for the part of Grace.” 

“Good”, she said. “You can start at any time.”  

So I took a deep breath, and had the best audition you could ever expect from a skinny flat small  medium-ish chested White woman from Buffalo. 

When I was finished I looked up from my paper and the director said with a straight face, “We’ll be in touch.” 

 I thought about saying, “Thank ya’ll. And have a blessed night.” 

But I realize that I would have been pushing my luck. So I just hauled my Black ass out the door and drove home as fast I could. 

To get started on this blog.

The VPLs

I was on an opening night high.  The audience loved the show, and I was hearing praise from everyone about what a great job I'd done portraying 70-year old Aunt Ruth in Marvin's Room.  

It was hard to believe that someone as young and immature vibrant as myself could be transformed into crippled old Aunt Ruth. 

My head was growing exponentially with ever complement.

I was soaking them in.  More, more... tell me more. 

Maybe I will quit my day job and move to Hollywood.  Because, clearly, I am the next Meryl Streep. 

Then Jim told me more.  

He said, "You know what I liked best about your performance?"  I started anticipating his response.  The way I embodied Ruth's spirit?  My subtle nuances in the kitchen scene?  The way I emoted Ruth's love of life? 

"What?" I asked, humbly.

"Your VPLs."

"Excuse me?"  I said. 

"Your VPLs," Jim repeated, chuckling to himself.

I had no idea what he was talking about.  Very pretty legs?  Very perky lips? 

I was afraid to ask.  "Um, what is a VPL?"

"Your Visual Panty Lines!" Jim said.  "When you bent over and walked across the stage it was hysterical!"

Tiffany, our costumer joined in, "I know!  I loved it!  What a great idea to wear granny panties!  I almost peed my pants!" 

Except those were my granny panties and they were not supposed to be part of the damn costume.

OMG.  Everyone in the audience saw my panty lines.

I tried to play it cool, but my beet red face, which I pointed directly into my glass of beer, was not helping my cause.

Then I remembered what a great actor I was and, in my best Merryl Streep voice I proclaimed,

"I thought it would add to my credibility to my role."