For The Record

I've never auditioned at home before. Actually, that's a lie. While thinking about what I was going to blog about today, a horrible memory crept out of the depths of my brain. This morning I've had to deal with the excruciating memory of sitting on my bed and leaving a voicemail for a director who asked me to leave him a recording of part of the script. I hate leaving voicemails at the best of times so reading someone's poorly worded script while I imagine their bored face listening to it later wasn't much fun. I remember getting to the end of the message and then not quite knowing how to finish. When doing a speech at an actual audition, I usually do some odd head movement to indicate that I'm done. And then the director groans, sighs and looks around the room awkwardly to let me know that I'm done too. But you can't do that on the phone. So a very timid "That's it. Thanks," came ouf of my mouth and then I'd hung up. About 2 hours later, I received a text message to say he'd received my application. And I never heard from him again.

But anyway, back to this week. I'm in my weekday default position (sofa, pyjamas, cup of tea) and an email comes through asking if I'm free for a Skype audition later on. Panic sets in instantly. I still have pillow creases embedded in my face. My hair is an unwashed mess. There's cold pizza in the kitchen that I want to eat. But of course, because we actors are incapable of saying no, I say yes and then let the panic really take hold. I jump in the shower, make my face look respectable and put on the only clothes I currently have that don't need a wash. It's then that I realise I can stay in my slippers the whole time and I do a little dance before emailing the director to let them know that I'm ready.

They ask for my Skype details and I realise my Skype name currently contains a nickname my boyfriend gave me. I spend 15 minutes trying to work out how to add a more professional name with a photo that isn't me dicking about in our living room in a frog onesie. Once that's sorted, they send me a disclaimer form to sign, scan and send back to them. No problem. Printers and scanners are known for doing exactly what you want them to do when you're under pressure, right? Like a true performer, my printer instantly started complaining. "I don't have enough ink," it whinged. I suggested he go complain to his manufacturer and bring me back a proper explanation on why printer cartridges are more expensive than Faberge eggs filled with golden caviar. He shut up and printed. Scanner then pipes up. "You realise I'm not wirelessly connected to your laptop?" I glare. "But you're part of my printer, and my printer is conntected to my laptop." Apparently my scanner and printer are very much the modern couple and prefer to be dealt with separately. I call my boyfriend who has a far superior laptop to mine and and ask to use his instead. Due to the terrible reception in our flat, it takes nearly 10 minutes for him to talk me through how to access the scanner from his computer. Then his laptop freezes. As we get closer to me having to fork out for a new laptop for him, I admit defeat. It's now nearly 45 minutes since I told the director I'd have everything ready within 5 minutes. An email where every other word is an apology is fired off and I wait.

Half an hour later they get back to me and ask if I'll just record the scene instead. This is brilliant. This means I can film it over and over again until I can send one that I'm vaguely happy with. I also don't have to deal with seeing their disappointed faces as I stumble through their script while my neighbour shouts profanities through the wall. It also means that I can eat that cold pizza. They ask if I can get someone to read the other part off camera. Thankfully, my boyfriend is on his way home. Otherwise what was I meant to do? Is having to read in for someone's recorded audition like jury service? If I ask someone then do they have to do it?

Eventually the audition is recorded, sent and, after all that effort, it appears I haven't got the job. Still, I got to audition in my slippers...