Bartleby the Actor

I went to an audition in Seattle last night. It went well. I was reasonably prepared and generally acted like a human who wanted a part in the play.

It reminded me of another audition, some ten years ago. At the time, the sum total of my acting experience consisted of participation in the Untamed Shrews, a theater group at my college that performed jaw-droppingly angry pieces of prose or poetry work. We were typically dispatched, wearing all black, as punishment to fraternities that had run afoul of gender relations. This did not prepare me for real auditions.

I arrived at the address and sauntered toward the door. It flung open and a woman came out at great speed. She had fierce piercings and hair and was built like the proverbial brick shithouse - in short, she didn't look the type to be afraid. But afraid she was. My nerves perked up.

Nevertheless, I continued in and up the stairs, where I was warmly greeted by two women. They smiled broadly. And even while they were talking, they were somehow smiling. It was a bit chilling. This was a blind audition and it was at this point that the grinners informed me that the play was a comedy based on Melville's "Bartleby the Scrivener." For those who have not read this work, I think I can safely say that there is no more depressing work in all of fiction. It makes Hamlet seem like a vaudeville song and dance. This is not an exaggeration.

Ok, I thought, I can handle this. I've read Bartleby and maybe ... maybe if I think, in my head, that the main character is actually a space alien with metal instead of brain matter ... no. Nope. I didn't see how this would work. I began casting my eyes toward the door.

They continued. "We'd like you to just improvise for a couple of minutes, ok? Just come up with something funny and show us what you've got!"

My jaw dropped. "Improvise? You want me to ... improvise a ... comedic scene based on Bartleby the Scrivener?"

They looked very proud and confirmed this was true. Then, as I began moving toward the door, one took my arm and led me to a room. Where she shut the door and, I have no doubt, stood outside it with a sword. I look around in a panic. The window! The windows had bars. Actual bars. I was fucked. The longest ten minutes of my life passed. Smiler number one knocked and entered.

"Ready?" she said brightly.

I growled or moaned or something.

She took me to another door. "Go on in! They're expecting you!"

I went in. But she went first and loudly, like I was an Oscar winning actor, she announced, "And here is REBECCA!!" I was facing a table at which sat, among others, The Handsomest Man In Seattle. I stared at him. They all looked at me expectantly. I continued to stare. His handsomeness was debilitating. He was so handsome. I continued to say nothing. Finally, he spoke. "Uh, did you want to ... start?" I shook my head. More staring. Finally, I whispered, "Could I ... try this again?" They agreed. I exited. I was introduced again, with the same utterly unwarrante enthusiasm. I stared some more.

Then, for reasons I cannot explain even to this day, I ... did something like sweeping. Mercifully, my psyche has locked the specifics of my "performance" deep in the recesses of my brain, but I do remember the sweeping. Why sweeping? Is it funny? Is it in Bartleby? The answer to both is a firm no. Somehow I wrapped it up. I vaguely recall skidding to a halt, somewhat out of breath. This was supposed to be comedic. To say that no one laughed is like saying a couple of people got hurt when they stormed the beaches at Normandy. Silence held. Trees died. Tumbleweeds flew by.

"O...k..." said one of them. Finally. "Thanks for ... that. We'll be in touch."

Instead of LEAVING, then, however, I was so humiliated and so convinced that they would talk shit about me as soon as I exited that I PULLED UP A CHAIR and sat next to them and refused to leave. For, like, a while. When they'd seen two more people (not exactly Tony material but at least devoid of brooms), I abruptly got up, bolted for the door and ran from the building. At which point, on the street, I strongly considered taking up heroin immediately.