I will not cry, I will not think.

I recently got an audition appointment through the Equity website. If you’re Equity and you’ve dealt with the process, you know this was no easy feat. I swear I get more nervous waiting for noon to strike in the hopes of scoring a time slot than I do for the actual audition.

Anyway, I got a slot. I wasn’t sure about the show, or rather if there was a role for me in the show. And the people behind the table were requesting a monologue along with a song. My monologue canon is very small, very, very small. I know I have to work on that at some point, but in truth it’s rare for musical auditions to ask for one.

Together with the monologue request and not being sure of the possibility of my being in the show, I was hesitant to go. If you really look at it, an audition is an intimate invited performance. And at this point I thought I was too worn out to attempt to perform. 

For my “day job” I work as a cater waiter and it was high season for catering. I would put in forty, fifty hours a week. I can hear those that have a “real” job scoff. For them forty hours is a normal week. But once you subtract the lunch hour, in reality it’s only about a 35 hour work week. In catering we don’t get a lunch hour. We get a 15-20 minute break towards the end of an event if we’re lucky.

Here’s how it works. If an event starts at 6pm, the majority of the catering staff arrives around 3pm or earlier depending on the complexity of the event. Right before the party begins we usually get a minute or two to grab something to eat.We’re on the floor ready for guests at 5:30, 5:45 at the latest. If the event goes until midnight, we’re slatted for a 1am out time. Breaks for the staff start at about 11pm. We work non-stop from 530pm until 11 or 1130pm (depending on which break a waiter is put on). And at no time do we have the luxury of ever sitting down.

During those hours we’re expected to be pleasant, personable, polite, friendly and attentive. Oh and smile, we’re expected to smile. It’s like being on stage for hours and hours, expending tons of energy, just without singing and dancing or the applause.

It’s freaking tiring.

So sometimes when I'm unsure if I could be cast in a show, I choose to not audition. I'd rather sleep or watch TV. It’s not the most productive choice I know. It won’t lead to an actual performing contract. I know that too. It just leads to more catering, which leads to less auditions which leads to more catering. Trust me. I know.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for my job. But there are other things I’m qualified to do to make money. For example, when I was in Germany I taught private musical theatre audition classes. My success rate was huge, something like 96 or 97 percent. Not all of my students got hired for the role they wanted, but they did get hired. 

Recently I had a chance to get back to teaching. I made a discovery as to where a bad habit I share with a former student of mine comes from.

Procida Creative International (PCI) is a theatre school located in Huntington, NY. It’s a brand new school just opening up. Brooke Procida is the owner/founder. A very talented performer herself, Brooke knows the business and is pretty well connected. She was doing a sort of summer camp for child performers, where the focus was on one particular show.

I love kids and I love teaching them, but I haven’t for a while. The last studio owner I worked with left a bad taste in my mouth. She was a bully towards some of the children. I’m all for tough love but telling a student she’s fat and will never work in the business because of it is far over the line of appropriate. Needless to say I quit working for that studio. I know Brooke personally and I know she takes care of the children like they were her own.

At PCI the children are wonderful and everything children should be: energetic, caring, hopeful, friendly and excited. The first day we went around the room and introduced ourselves. We asked the kids why they were here. One little boy said “I just love everything about theatre”.  It was amazing. So when what happened happened, it hit me hard. It resonated throughout my entire psyche.

I decided to go to the audition. The fact that I got an appointment from a submission for the same day as my Equity appointment made the decision easier. I mean I submitted myself to a company essentially telling them I’m right for a role so hire me. I had better at least show up. Since I would have to be warmed up and ready anyway, including the monologue audition into the mix was a no brainer. The difficult part would be navigating the differences between the two auditions.

Based on the product that I bring into the room, I believe it’s best for me to tailor each audition individually. I pick outfits, shoes, songs the whole lot based on the show I’m being seen for. To some this seems excessive. I know talented actors who wear one outfit and sing the same two songs, one ballad one up tempo, for everything. And they work.

For me, two auditions in one day, one in the morning one in the late afternoon, meant going back to Queens. Once back home I would start over from scratch with my pre-audition prep work. One of the more difficult decisions in that prep work, is deciding what to wear. What you have on your body can sometimes literally get you the job.

My roommate in Germany was Tamara, a wonderfully talented performer. She had a big audition coming up. I heard her practicing and preparing. When the day came she was nervous, naturally, but determined to do her best, which I can only assume she did. However she got cut. I knew a lot about the company she was auditioning for, so when I saw her afterward I asked her point blank “Did you wear what you have on?”

She relied “Yes.”

“Then that’s probably one of the reasons why you got cut.”

Then I asked her to recount the entire audition from walking into the room to walking out of the room. From that I discerned another reason. It was actually something I had in common with Tamara. We had both been inadvertently taught a bad habit. It was the same thing I witnessed happening to some of the kids at camp on the second day.

We were in the midst of choreographing a number which featured four soloists. The first of which was given the main direction of the piece and how the blocking was to proceed. The kid was happy and full of fun. The other three were given the same direction, which was tweaked for their circumstances. Still everyone was happy and energetic and full of life. Then we ran the number a couple of times. And each time it happened. The life was sucked out of the first child. The fun had been removed and the pure joy of being there exorcised.

Why? Because of the mirrors.

Every time we ran the number I watched the kid watching and editing themselves. The child retreated into their own mind and was making judgments as to what was right and what was wrong. And what was left on stage was the shell of a vibrant young person that had just been there a minute ago.

And for Tamara and me it was the same.

We both came from dance backgrounds. We were both taught to use the mirrors. Watching ourselves to correct and edit based on what we saw, was in our training. The problem arose when we started doing the same thing during auditions, particularly vocal auditions.

Instead of watching ourselves through a mirror while we sang, we would watch ourselves through a sort of out of body experience. We were basically making a video feed of our vocal auditions, while simultaneously playing them back during the audition. There was maybe a two second delay in performing, watching and judging. This killed any spontaneity, any sense of being present in the room and any connection to the material being performed.

When Tamara told me that this had happened to her at that important audition, I made a suggestion. If she was using a mental video camera to watch her audition, she should mentally create a power source for that camera. When she found herself being mesmerized by the video feed, she could just simply unplug the camera from that source. The feed would go dead and she could get on with the job at hand, capturing the hearts of the people behind the table.

I walked into my second audition of the day. Low and behold the audition requirements had changed. We no longer needed a monologue. The people behind the table provided sides from the show. Great. One obstacle down. I entered the room, and after making small talk, I approached the piano. The accompanist's body posturing said “Look at me. I’m amazing and clearly the best thing in the room. And I'm over it.” I dealt with him as I do all accompanists, pleasantly, and instructed him on the particulars of my music. I walked to the center of the room and away we went.

I don’t know what that man was playing but it certainly wasn’t any of the notes on the pages I handed him.

Catering had left me not fully energized. My fortitude slipped. I started to doubt myself and criticize myself. Clearly it was my fault and my lack of talent. Then immediately it happened. The video feed started up and snatched me out of the moment even more. I found myself in the viewing room chair sitting in judgment. It was just like what I had witnessed the children doing to themselves during rehearsal.

The children’s actual performance was great. So alive and vibrant, full of joy. They overcame their self-editing. But children are resilient if given half a chance. As for us adults...

A week after her initial audition, Tamara traveled to another city and auditioned again for the same company. She was armed with our new technique and a brand new outfit more fitting to the company’s ideals. She got called back. Then she booked the job. Eventually she ended up being a director for the company.

As for me, I yanked that plug out of the wall and resumed the second of two intimate invited performances for the day. Eventually the accompanist and I got in sync. But it didn't matter either way. After unplugging, I performed with confidence and never outwardly let on that anything was amiss. After singing I was asked to read the sides. The director of the piece said “I was buying that”, meaning she believed me and was invested in what I was doing.

I didn’t book the gig. So back to catering. After the great experience I had with PCI and Brooke, maybe I'll even teach again. As for the show, if you remember, I wasn't even sure if I was right for it in the first place. And the outcome kind of confirmed my suspicions. Besides it was just one job out of a possible million jobs that I’ll audition for in my life time. However what I practiced was something that will help me book down the line: how to live and thrive and audition in the moment.

And that's what the people behind the tables want in front of them: a living breathing human being giving an invited intimate performance. No one wants to see me, or anyone else for that matter, sitting alone in a mental viewing room watching...

“...The movie in my mind”.