The Callback That Sealed The Deal "I Am Too Old For This"

 

    No names necessary.

    As someone who has been teaching and directing for twenty years, I have no patience with having my time wasted.

    I am not a Big Enough Deal to direct Real Actors in Real Theatres. I'm just a clown that got lucky, they gave me the keys to the building and trust me. I am not respected in the community because the community has no idea who am. Getting a directing gig in this town is as rough as getting an acting gig, made infinitely more inaccessible by the influx of actors from Everywhere But Here. However, I Occasionally do venture out to audition, only for one of two reasons: It's within 20 minutes of where I live or it's a "Bucket List" show. 

    Today's callback qualified as the former, and is one of three times this company has done a show for which I am the right age. This will be the third time I've not been cast. But I'll audition next time, because there are few roles for my age, and it's 19 minutes from my house. And by the time they do another show I'm right for, I will have forgotten today's debacle. 

    The audition last week was fine, I showed up, they ran on time, I went home. The director said he'd let me know in 24 hours if I had been called back for today (Sunday, a week later). I received an email 48 hours later, stating that I would receive audition sides and a schedule within a short amount of time. I received the sides the next day, but not a schedule. Two flags on the that play.

    By 8.30 last night, Saturday, before the callback, I had not received a schedule. I had two choices: A) shrug and figure I'd been ghosted and B) Be professional and email the director. I chose B. He responded that the schedule was sent at 7.45 PM on Saturday, the night before the callback, and if I did not receive it, he attached it. This was at 8.45 pm. Immediately on the heels of his email, the email from the SM came through with the schedule. 11 am was my callback time. I was sent two sides for one role. I was not feeling positive about how this was organized, friends.

    I left my house at 10.30 to give myself time to park. I arrived at 10.50 with a handful of actors. The show has five people in it, so I was not expecting more than 15-20 people at callbacks. That seems like a reasonable number for a theatre that holds less than 200 people and is barely a paid gig. Even if they have procured an "ish" equity contract.

    By 11.05 there were forty people in the lobby.

    The first three groups were assigned, then immediately reassigned as the SM pointed out that some people had to leave early. It was a two page side that should take about three minutes to read through.

    The first group was inside for ten minutes. Then the second group entered, and that's where I lost track of any cohesive schedule. They appeared to be taking individuals in and out, to mix and match, which is a thing you do after you've seen everyone. But OK.  I was put into a group for my first reading  (about four lines at the end of the scene) but we were not given a group number, or a time frame. By now it's noon and I've texted home to tell them I won't be home by 12. 30, which is a time that would make sense based on how very small the role is for which I was auditioning, and the time needed to read a few people for it, and the time I said I'd be home and we could go get lunch. I read through the scene three times with my group in the outer lobby, and nobody emerged from the theatre, nobody entered. We figured we had time. We chatted until we knew each other's lives, and then disbanded. We figured we had more time.

    We did. We read at 12.15. We were then told to "hang around".

    I made friends with a transplanted New Yorker in my group, only to learn that quite a few...no many...of the other actors were from New York. She was beside herself with the disorganization, and equated it to the non equity cattle calls she went through in NYC. I told her she was welcome to return to New York. But I agreed with her regarding the shit show we were in. She also said she felt safer in Brooklyn that she does in Arvada, and I again invited her to return to her home state.

    The SM came by to tell me who my new partner would be, and I looked as she pointed over at the guy I had  just mocked for taking my seat and touching my phone. Great. He was one man who was reading with several women. I asked the SM what the time frame was and she shrugged. So I said "I have to leave at two". I shoulda pulled that the minute I realized they were calling back a thousand people for the roles. Then I look at my new scene partner, who was reading with the same woman who he'd clearly decided was going to get the part and so  did not have time for me. So I went into the outer lobby and texted home. Because it was loud and crowded in the lobby lobby, and by now, an hour and a half into a callback that should have been over by now, people were getting chummy. I am not chummy. In fact, I found myself getting grumpy.

    I got bored waiting for my partner who had latched on to one of his other partners, a lovely, put together, thin woman with white hair who I decided was going to get the part based on her look. She was stunning. Couldn't blame him for wanting to read and chat with her instead of myself, who is clearly more Miss Piggy than she, so I toddled back into the lobby lobby, where the SM told me "You guys are next." So I looked at my partner who had weirdly appeared at my side and said "Maybe we should read through it?" We did, and he'd clearly made every choice based on the other women he'd read with. I could have been a broom for all he cared. So. I leave him and return to my lobby table, where one of my college professors is seated. We've also been chatting. She's 73 and we're reading for the same part. We begin to talk about finally starting our own theatre because Screw This Noise. While we're talking I note that it's 1.38. The SM emerges and takes my scene partner and the Stunning Woman he was rehearsing with into the theatre. Obviously, I was not next. I blame myself, If only I was a more attractive older woman, thin with white hair and striking black framed glasses, I would have not been line jumped.  Alas, I am but a clown. I shrug and return to my conversation. Seconds later, the SM comes over to inform us that they've seen all they need we can go now.

    Really.

    You couldn't have done that twenty minutes ago?

    I said "Cool, thanks, I'm out," and got up so fast I knocked the barstool over. I said to my former prof on my way "Really? Coulda cut me twenty minutes ago, not wasted my time." I'm pretty sure everyone heard me. I wasn't angry. I just wanted to leave. Their opinions are not my problem. I don't care.

    And that's the honest truth. I Do Not Care.

    I don't like the play, it's problematic on many levels. I knew when a thousand people showed up that this was a bad idea, I should have just stayed home. I'd like to work 19 minutes from my house, yes, and it's fun to act again, sure. But dude. It's almost 2 pm and I've been here since 11. For the smallest of the five roles! I would never waste an actor's time. I pride myself on quick, organized auditions and a fast cast list. Good directors do not need to take this kind of time making a decision. They don't. I promise. So. In conclusion, all in all, to sum up.

    Do Better.

Dead Inside

 

    It is hard to admit defeat.   

    Teaching theatre killed my love of theatre. Not all theatre, just doing it. It was exhausting when I had a program kids wanted to be in, it's insufferable now. I'm supposed to save a program in a building that does not want it. Because the kids don't want it. Let's rephrase that: there are not kids In Bulk who want it. It's more important to keep class sizes high to justify the FTE than it is to admit that upper level theatre classes aren't going to be big because theatre is hard and not everybody wants to do it.

    That's what killed my love. The overwhelming wave that is defined as a lack of love.

Charlie

 

    "Dear," Leigh  Rhodes addressed the five year old "you cannot chew on your nuts." She looked into the sea of brown eyes, all staring at her.  One small child, clad head to toe in brown fur,  held his hands up to her to receive his nut. The others stood around, ostensibly, for moral support. "Hold your nut in both hands. It is precious." 

    She smiled at the scurry of scruffy squirrels and heard the costumer behind her. "She said  hold onto your nut, Tyrell, we can't have nuts just rolling around everywhere. Both hands."

    Tina, the costumer, stood behind her with a glue gun, patiently hot gluing the styrofoam nuts that had been broken in half. "How are they breaking exactly in half? Are the foam balls manufactured like that? I didn't notice." She handed the newly repaired prop to the child in front of her "Maria, hold it with both hands until it's dry. This is above my pay grade." Maria scurried off to wait in the wings, as two more nuts could be heard hitting the ground and rolling away.

    Tina turned to Leigh  "You owe me. I did not sign up to be a nut repair shop."

    "But the perk of making adult nut jokes that they do not understand is worth it, right?

    "Nope."

    Leigh  moved toward the wing so she could cue the squirrels, who were wide eyed and completely silent, focused on the action on stage. At their cue, she gently patted the head squirrel on the head and he led the scurry on stage.

    When she returned to what had become the nut repair station, she whispered to Tina, "You can get away with the nut jokes, but you have to stop adjusting their costumes by shoving your hand down their pants."

    "How else am I to do it?"

    "Ask first."

    Trish paused with the hot glue gun  poised to rest, with the barrel pointed upward. "No. I don't have to do that shit, you do. I'm not a teacher. I'm done with the whole thing---"

    "What 'thing'? Respecting personal space?"

    "They're children, Leigh. They don't know the difference."

    Leigh shook her head, "That's where you're wrong. I know you aren't used to this population, and I know that it's difficult to change the way you've always done something--"

    "Exactly. 'This population'. Their parents aren't even here to see the show, Leigh. They're not going to tell on me for fixing their shirt."

    "The kids in Littleton have been in the program for years, they know you. They know how you are and who you are, and the kids' had siblings in shows with you. Nobody knows you here. It's never a bad thing to check yourself and maybe adjust  a few habits that may be inappropriate."

    "I can't have this conversation right now, the squirrels are returning and I can see nut bits everywhere on stage."

    "They only had to make it through that scene. They're fine. We'll have to help them get into their Oompa Loompa costumes."
    "Without touching them or tucking in their shirts, yes, this'll be fun."

    "Don't be a dick."

    "It's who I am. Suck it," she took two steps to the wing and started collecting the now broken and chewed upon nuts in a giant burlap sack.

    They had made their way to the brew pub after the show. It was only three p.m. Today was the matinee for parents who had to work tomorrow night, and tomorrow at 6 p.m. would be the final performance. The pub was near the school, so they were only going to have one beer before parting ways. Leigh had a forty five minute drive back to Lakewood, and Trish would be traveling over an hour back south to Monument. This was their sixth show together as director and costumer, and their first show with the kids in Aurora. They had both spent years in performing arts programs in Boulder, Denver and Littleton that charged parents large amounts for two week camps. The current camp was Leigh's idea, and it was free to parents. Tina had never worked for free, and was not working for free this time. Leigh was volunteering her time to boost interest in the elementary schools. 

    "I dunno," Tina started, "you think anyone will show up tomorrow?"

    Leigh ordered their beers. She liked this brew pub quite a bit and wished it was in her own neighborhood. It was west of the school on the leg of Colfax between the small community theatres and the hospital. The gentrification---or "beautification"---of this corridor had slowed down. 

    "Yes, I do. Tyrell's mom said his dad will be here. And Maria's whole family. Colin's  grandma is coming, and Naomi's twin sister and dad...we worked out the kinks we needed to. Tomorrow will be great."

    Tina shrugged and sipped her lager. Leigh knew that shrug, and interpreted it.

    "This isn't Littleton. The parents are grateful even if they can't attend."

    "Why are you even bothering? That new Performing Arts school is gonna gobble your high school kids."

    "Maybe. But they aren't the ones offering free summer programs, I am."

    "You're a chump," Tina sneered, "you're giving away excellent training and experience to kids who will use what you've taught them to make a name for a different school."

    "So you wanna come back next summer?"

    "Nope."

    Leigh became quiet. It was time for a change of subject. This one was old. She'd been listening to it for an entire school year, as her colleagues felt she was fighting a losing battle. Teaching theatre in  a building that did not want a theatre program, located within blocks of the building reimagining itself as a performing arts magnet school seemed to be a lost cause. Yet as a fan of Harper Lee, she believed you should fight even if you know you're licked. It's the definition of real courage.

    Tina's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You need to come back out south, or to Boulder. The new directors aren't nearly as strong as you are."

    "Which is why I'm not needed, " Leigh stated. "They have other directors to choose from."

    "Ok then, how about coming back because the kids have talent. Don't you miss that?"

    "You're telling me little Tyrell has no talent? Or Moises? He's the best Wonka I've ever had."

    "Ya, like three kids. You used to have thirty with talent."

    "Stop. It's not about that and you know it. These kids have talent, they've just had no opportunity to do anything."

    "And it shows. The hell with these behaviors? I'm astounded at how disrespectful and flaky they are."

    "They're disassociated and traumatized. You're not a teacher, remember? You only see summer kids with rich parents who've been doing musicals since birth. Those third graders--the ones playing the main Oompa Loompas--the ones you're always yelling at to be still- those kids were the ones in kindergarten when Covid hit. They missed out on two years of regular socialization at a time when it was imperative to their development. They were online or in those stupid A/B pods or whatever. Where do you learn to be social? To meet deadlines? To memorize? Theatre. And how do you get in a summer theatre program? Money. It isn't their fault, Tina."

    Tina was silent.

    "Covid brain is real, Tina. We all have it."

    "You're saying everyone had Covid? I believe you. Why get vaxxed?"

    "No, Covid brain. There have been studies. Everyone at every age has had their mental and physical brain health altered by the event. Memory lapses. Foggy brain. ADD--"
    

    "Did you get it? You're OK."

    "No, I'm not. Neither are you."

    "I thought you were gonna say you were OK because you got the Vaxxes--"

    "That conversation bores me Tina, you know that. Don't try to bait me."

    Tina fell quiet again and took two long sips of her beer. The tattooed barista, who Leigh knew was part owner, told her the food truck would be arriving at 4 if they would like a menu. 

   "What's the truck today?" Tina asked.

    "Thai," said the barista, smiling. "It's the bomb."

    "Let me know when that macaroni and cheese food truck comes back. That was yummy. Remember that one, Leigh? It's like him and his mom."

    "That wasn't out here, though, that was Mike's place, by the lake."

    "Oh ya, " Tina laughed and touched the barista's hand, "hard to keep track. We drink  A Lot."

    The barista returned Tina's hand to her own side of the bar. "Well, y'all are teachers, right?  You're known to be drinkers."

      "Just her--" Tina pointed at Leigh, an unnecessary gesture as they were seated together. "I'm a regular person. I stitch. Now I'm a costumer. I was a stay a home mom."

    The bartender nodded and replied "How fortunate for you. Wouldn't we all like to have been stay at home moms?" She exchanged a glance with Leigh, who smiled quietly back.

    Tina paused and noted the look between Leigh and her former student. She knew Leigh became a teacher out of need of a paycheck. She knew that she would have rather stayed home and raised her kids. Leigh was not exactly quiet about such things.

    "You're the only friend I have who is like you are---"

    "Do not use that term---"

        "I won't. You know. You're so...left."

        "And you're so far right you've impacted the earth's rotation with your yelling."

        Tina smiled.  She raised her beer to clink with Leigh.

        "Yes, you're the best costumer in town and I'd be lost without you."

        "To be fair, you're the strongest director I've ever known."

        "The only one strong enough to put up with you for eight shows."

        "This is six. Learn to count, Dementia." Tina swallowed the last of her brew.

        "Why are you so mean to me?"

        "Because you let me."

        Leigh finished her beer. "So, ya wanna do this again next summer?"

       Tina shook her head  and smiled, then sighed.

        Leigh stood up and faced her friend. "Sucker."