Don’t Call Me. I’ll Call You…Back.

Oh schnap. We got a callback from last week’s audition.

Getting the news was sort of like getting baptized again—only this time the water was warm and I wasn’t wearing white underwear.

As the good book sayeth, “He hath opened the heavens and rained down blessings upon the Umble.”

The Hebrew word for blessings literally means: “opportunites to star in very local commercials.”

And the English meaning for “umble” is simply “humble.” Ahh, the good Lord giveth the H and the good Lord taketh the H away.

But this post isn’t about theology; it’s about awesome acting.

When we walked into the audition site, we were forced to do that whole meet-and-greet thing. You know, pretend like we weren’t sizing each other up. I tried to keep my compliments simple but exciting and truthful. Like “Oh, little Bobby has boisterous ears!” and “That Victoria has the sweet eyes of a sick kitten.” And when all else failed, I went with something poignantly bland: “Oh, would you look at those feet in those shoes!”

But after 90 minutes of waiting at the audition site, even Elie Mae was over it. She had eaten all the peach-flavored puffs her belly could handle, and when the other kids decided to watch Winnie the Pooh, she was all, “Screw you guys, I’m going home.”

Then they called us. I grabbed Eliot with one hand, straightened my mom jeans with the other, and hoped my eyebrows weren’t touching in the middle. This was going to be a good day.

We stepped into the back room, and it was all hot and schweaty.

I sat down with Eliot in a wicker chair, facing all the big guns. And it went a little something like this:

DIRECTOR: “Taylor, you are over it. You are tired of being on this plane.”

ME: #FAIL. #DON’TQUITDAYJOB. #SOMEONECALLHERMANCAIN.

DIRECTOR: “Let’s try it again. And this time, Taylor, you are almost catatonic.”

ME: This hurts me more than it hurts you, BET–I pretended I was watching “The Game.” I think I was perfect, because soon after, they let me leave.

Some people might celebrate a callback by going back to work. But Me and Elie Mae? Nahhh, shun. We grabbed us some beef patties and coco bread. We prefer the kind where the grease soaks through the brown paper bag, which is why we never watch Dr. Oz. But on the way home, we got back to business. We practiced our skills just in case we book the commercial.

Watch a video of our improv acting exercise, “The Man,” below.

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2 thoughts on “Don’t Call Me. I’ll Call You…Back.

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