Casting calls, er cattle calls…

Dozens of doods in tight designer jeans, tighter shirts with random decals on them and hair that is gelled and frozen in place for weeks. They all sit there sizin one another up with fake smiles and uncomfortable laughs hoping that they will book this one gig that will pay them a grand for 6 hours of work next tuesday so they can spend it on more jeans, hair gel, a shit load of alcohol and some coke that theyll snort in the bathroom of some random dive bar in the lower east side while hoping to get down with one of the girls they met at the afforementioned cattle call.

The girls have their caked make up applied liberally around their faces. Shirt lines give way to low cuts and expose clevage that a porn star would envy. Ive realized something too about all these girls. They all look the same, its all very cookie cutter. Its not even like these girls are especially pretty, they just happen to be very unique looking. Cookie cutter unique. If that makes any sense.

Anyway i sit there with all of them and im always the only one reading a book. Not that it puts me on a pedestal but i do wonder at times whether any of them can actually read because i never see it happen, except to of course when i hear one of them read something from the cue cards like, “mmmm tomato soup!”. Generally they take out their portfolios and google over pictures of one another, seeing who can post their best blue steel.

Eventually five of us are called into a room where one young man sits behind a camera who looks like he would rather be cutting the skin between his fingers with a sharp edge of a piece of paper and then applying lemon juice to the laceration. In other words he is obviously very happy to be here. He then asks us all to take off our shirts and apply a sticker with numbers onto our chests, so we can be further relegated to cattle status. The one thing i notice is that i am the only gentleman in the room with hair on his chest. The four other guys have all waxed their chests and look like that lil 12 year old muscle kid. You know, the one who has the face of a 30 year old and is short and thin like a 12 year old but is built like arnold schwarznegger. So i make the comment “I should have waxed my chest like the rest of you” To which they all actually laugh without realizing im making fun of them.

Its at that point that i realize i might be in the wrong line of work.

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