Not ready yet, Mr. DeMille

Okay, so here’s how it went down.

I had like, oh, say, about 3 thousand times more stress getting out the door this morning than usual. Fretting over clothing and hair and make up. Forgetting things. Realizing I need gas. Getting to the gas station and realizing that I had forgotten the directions. Finally making it onto the road. Getting lost. Finding my way back onto the route. Getting lost again. Ending up in the weird industrial/trucking and transportation area. Wondering vaguely if this is really an elaborate, if not very well thought out, plot by some serial killer to break a record by corralling a large number of 40-ish victims and bumping us off in rapid succession. Deciding that was being paranoid. Deciding that paranoia was a symptom of anxiety. Rethinking every choice I’d made about clothing, hair and make up. Deciding, fuck it. And walking in.

Into a strange, semi-abandoned warehouse, with the odd (and I do mean odd) direct to video movie poster slapped on the wall. Eventually, I found a big room with 30 folding chairs of varied provenance and questionable levels of sturdiness, and a moderately perky, professionally hip gal wrangling a bunch of vaguely middle-aged people. She had me fill out a form, and in a friendly yet firmly impersonal way told me to go cool my heels until they called for me. So, being me, I took one of the sturdier looking chairs and whipped out my knitting. About 10 minutes later, I was called up and told to put a sticky note with a number on my sweater and follow her. We passed the woman who was before me leaving. Let’s just say, I didn’t get the job. That was no real person. Amazons are not real people. If I had an ad campaign, I’d pick her over me any day. Anyway. They at least took a few pity shots of me, just so that I wouldn’t feel stupid for coming out. Which I appreciate. And the photographer was a cutie. So. I’ve spent worse mornings.

And it was a novel experience. I am quite fond of novelty. And I learned a few things. Should you ever find yourself in a similar situation, check your full-length profile in the clothes you decide to wear. While the slacks I have on are pretty flattering from front and back, they made me look like I had a poochy tummy from the side. Okay, it’s my tummy that makes me look like I have a poochy tummy from the side. But the pants weren’t helping. Also, carry a decent-sized pocket mirror for a last minute check. There may not be one in the room. Why they wouldn’t want you to look your best, I don’t know. But there you have it. Also, check to make sure your top doesn’t get lap wrinkles from sitting. Yes, by the time I got to the office after the casting call, and saw myself from all angles in a full-length mirror, I was less than satisfied by my efforts. Well. If it ever comes up again, I’ll know. If I decide to do it again. It kind of put my head through the wringer. The pain:gain ratio may be more than this petunia can handle.