The Audition

As most of you know, last week I auditioned to be the emcee in a local community theater show called "Salute to the Tony Awards." The theater's website said that you could try out to be a singer, a dancer, or the emcee. The instructions for the emcee said, "Please prepare a comedic monologue."

The instructions also said, "Must be able to read," but I didn't see that part.

So, as you can imagine, when they have to stipulate that auditioners be literate, they're probably expecting most of them to be children.

And most of them were.

When I got to the audition and realized that every single person there was in about seventh grade, I wanted to bolt out the door. I felt like a pedophile, or at the very least a huge loser who tries to boost her ego by besting children. Like, "Hey, you guys, do you need a ride home? I don't! I got my own car, so, umm, yeah, seeya."

But I figured most of the kids would be singers and dancers, and they would still want an adult emcee, right? Plus they already saw me come in, so it would be totally obvious if I left without auditioning. And fortunately right then another adult showed up to try out.

"So, you're auditioning?" I asked her, just to ascertain that she wasn't some other auditioner's mom or something.

"Yeah, but just for the emcee," she said.

Crap.

Fun side note, the audition was held at the clubhouse of a former public pool that was recently closed because the pool was sinking into the ground.

And at that audition, I sat in my stupid plastic chair hoping that the sinking ground could somehow swallow me up.

While I was doing that, the other woman auditioned. It turned out, she interpreted "comedic monologue" to mean some sort of humorous soliloquy from an already-existing play. Plus she had a British accent, which was a strike against me. Because wouldn't you rather your emcee have a pleasant, lilting British accent, than some kind of nasally California/Illinois hybrid accent?

So, okay, eventually it was my turn. Now, here's the thing. Picture your standard average community theater room, with gray walls, low ceilings, and florescent lights. You know, the kind of place that hosts Cub Scout meetings at night and senior luncheons by day? The kind of place that just screams "awkward"?

And we have an actual term, stage fright, but I would have been way less frightened to be on an elevated stage in a darkened room than three feet away from the directors on a linoleum floor.

"Umm, I wrote my own monologue," I mumbled. "You know, like Jay Leno does a monologue?"

"Cool," the director said.

And I did my thing, somewhat awkwardly. And afterward, the director said, "Shannon, do you have comedic training?" Which I think was a compliment. I said no, but I watch a lot of TV.

"But you do write, don't you?" the director asked.

"I guess I do," I said. "I have a blog." I gave her the address. She wrote it down.

She asked if I would be interested in writing jokes for the show. I said sure, because that would be awesome. But I was wondering if her asking me to be a writer was like saying I had a great face for radio. And as much as I love writing, when it comes to community theater, what little glory there is to be had is reserved for the on-air talent. I mean, it's prestigious to write for Saturday Night Live or something like that. But in community theater, I want to be seen. I mean, even in the big leagues, the stars are better known than the writers. Tina Fey made a very wise decision to star in 30 Rock in addition to writing and producing it.

I was told that the cast list would be up on the community theater website on Monday (which was yesterday). And I kept on clicking "refresh" until finally the list showed up. And ...

It's a tie. The other woman and I are both going to be emcees.


And I don't know about Yvonne Ambrose, but I am so excited! And I get to write and star in this show. I'm like the Tina Fey of this particular community theater production!

You guys should totally come. The performance is at an Italian restaurant, so for the price of your ticket you get to see young people singing and dancing, the comedic stylings of me and some other women, and free sausage.