April 26, 2010

Key to What?

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...

In addition to the glamorous tasks of my production job detailed right here in this very blog, I also sometimes drive around Los Angeles like a crazy person in business casual/young and hip outfits hoping someone will pay me lots of money because they like the way that I eat a hamburger/pretend to pay money to an imaginary cashier.  That's right- I don't limit my humiliations to my office, but instead regularly sneak out to take them on the road and audition for commercials!  Because I don't like to push it by asking for permission every time I need to leave my desk to go pass an hour in a casting office before I can  take my turn to say, "Here's your popcorn shrimp," I've gotten pretty good at sneaking out of my office.  The other day I realized my true minimalist escape potential when I made it out of the building with just my phone and my driver's license in my pocket and my ticket to retrieve my keys wadded up in my hand.  If I'm not carrying a purse full of things like Visine and Target gift cards, then how could I reasonably be going anywhere for any length of time, coworker I might possibly run into in the hall?

Today I got a call once I was already at my office that I had a call back tonight, this very evening.  Because no one could possibly remember/imagine/move on from what an actor wore to their initial audition, you're supposed to wear the exact same thing to the call back.  But here I was at my office with no blue mock turtleneck and no black pencil skirt in sight!  I decided to use my most low profile sneak-outery to run home and get them.  My method was just was just the same as the first time- Phone and license in my pocket, parking ticket in hand... Except last time I tried it I was going to an audition, which- unlike my house- does not require my house key to get in.  The problem is that I don't leave my house keys with my car keys when I give them to the parking guy, a consideration that didn't strike me until I was all the way home with no house key and no fake rock with an extra one (as any reasonable person should have).  I got kind of excited at the idea of breaking into my own house (which, incidentally, is directly across the street from a police station) but couldn't even get the dog to pull his end of the bargain as the guy on the inside who pops out the screen so I can hoist myself through the window.  Cursing the well-functioning security that protects me and my possessions, I headed back to my office empty-handed, wearing what I will be wearing tonight for my call back: A shamefully different colored sweater and- my god will they even recognize me?- jeans.

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