CSI: Who gives a shit?

Having had a successful audition for a Foxtel commercial, I was flown up to Sydney for a day so the American director, producers, all their P.A.'s, and the rest of their entourage could see me in the flesh. In the Green Room were some of Australia's finest young comedians, of all physical descriptions. You can imagine it. Everyone was 'on'. Jokes flew hard and fast, and were topped, topped again, and glazed, and cherried with nuts. Some worked with exquisite physical humour, others tore unsuspecting victims apart with white collar wit, and the best did it with a look; a raising of the eyebrow. The timing transcended natural rhythms, accents were accessed when required, and it was, all in all, a petrifying wait for your turn to Wow! the Yanks with never seen before comic genius. Actors walked out of the audition a little bewildered. Directions such as, 'keep it simply complicated', stay cool in a manic way', or 'you like the product so much, you can't stand it', were commonplace, and when one actor dared to question the director, he was met with, 'baby, advertising is an oxymoron. ' Waiting in the Green Room, I was one of the quiet ones. I giggled when appropriate, but held on to the newspaper. I'm very bad at learning lines for commercials. When asked to spout information as to when the new Apprentice airs, or lists of stars doing voice overs for documentaries, it won't sink in. If I don't care, I can't remember. A problem, I know. It was whilst one of the comedians was performing a mime of John Howard's bowling style, that I happened to look down and notice a stain on my shirt, just above my 'privates'. 'Oh, shit.' I believe I said. I'd had a taco earlier that day, (Trippy Taco, on Smith Street. Soft shell, oh so good.) and I had 2 choices: (obviousl, but let me spell it out) clean it up, or leave it. It ain't rocket science, so I chose the cleaning up option; there were plenty of people to go in before me, would it dry in time, though? I had to be quick, so I headed to the bathroom and, using toilet paper, rubbed at the stain successfully removing it. As I left the bathroom, the casting woman was waiting for me. She was about to speak, but before she did, I looked down, which brought her eyes down with mine. 'Oh.' Was all she said. It was not an exclamation. 'You're next in.' I smiled a 'this always happens to me' smile. This always happens to me, and I'm really into going with it at the moment: Huge, indulgent sighs, mutters and murmers, cursing the Gods. You should check it out, it feels good. They were all going to think I pissed myself. They were all going to point and laugh, and say the word that wakes all actors up in the middle of the night. Sweating. Breathing, rapidly. 'Next!' As I approached the door, I decided to broach it immediately. To not mention it would be foolish. I hate nothing more than pretending that there's nothing wrong when everyone knows that something is clearly askew. Americans are scary in this industry, and I tried to hold my head up high as I opened the door. 'If I get the part I'm going to need a diaper.' I even Americanised (Americanized) a word for them. They looked at me, and then looked down. 'It was a Taco, I swear to God.' They laughed. As I turned a page on my script, (everyone else had their lines down) I accidently put my thumb in my eye. They looked at each other and snickered. They were delighted. I made mistakes and cursed, using words like 'fuck' and 'shitballs'. They stared, daring me to go further, to do more. I got the part, and will be flying up to Sydney to shoot it all next week. I will be staying at a posh hotel and will be treated like an American. In this industry that's a good thing, if you like over the top pampering every now and then. Advertising is an oxymoron. Who knows what they want?