I had an audition. Thankfully, I’m still not famous.

Before today, I’d been on two auditions in my life. One was during senior year of high school when I tried out for the theater program at the University of Illinois. I had to memorize some Greek monologue, and the audition sort of went like this:

Me: HARK! (hands shoot into the air)
Professor nods.
Me: Um, Can I start over?
Professor nods.
Me: HARK! (hands shoot into the air)
Professor nods.
Me: Um, can I use the chair as a prop?
Professor nods.
Me: HARK! (hands shoot into the air)

And scene.

I didn’t get into the program.

I hated acting after that. In high school, I was in every play, but that humiliating audition turned me off from any sort of future acting. Plus, I rationalized, being famous would suck. Sure, you make lots of money sometimes. But you have to give up any shred of privacy you’ve ever had. No more midnight CVS runs for a quick pregnancy test. No more tripping silently. No more brothels or public baths. Fame could really ruin everything.

It wasn’t until senior year of USC when I realized I could be moving out of Los Angeles for good. I felt the urge to be on TV before I left. It’s just what you do in LA. I thought the easiest show to get on would be Blind Date, and I showed up in a very slutty outfit for the audition. I may have looked whore-y, but I didn’t say anything incriminating because I knew my grandma would watch it. They deemed me too prude and, again, I had bombed an audition (I still got to be on TV before I moved away, and it was NOT all it was cracked up to be– long story. Tell ya later. Also, that ‘cracked up to be’ analogy is pretty dumb).

I didn’t think another audition would ever be in the cards. This week (almost ten years after the last one) a friend of a friend called me in to audition for a sketch show put on by CBS. It’s for minorities, and agents come to pick up new talent and get us dark-skinned people more exposure. What’s that? It doesn’t seem like I have dark skin? Oh. I guess I don’t. I’ve been confused about my ethnicity from the day I was born. Most people think I’m French or Israeli, so I often find myself saying words in Spanish to prove my roots. But why? I hate myself when I do that. I grew up thinking I was half Spanish, which just makes me Hispanic (not Latina), since Spain is in Europe (in case you don’t have a map). I learned the Spanish culture from my dad, and that was that. Then, when I was 16, I found out he was half Puerto Rican. So, I guess I’m that too, which explains my robust hips and my love for beans. Still, unless I’m filling out a scholarship application or in Mexico hablando espanol, I’m pretty damn white. In the end, I’m American. In the end, it really doesn’t matter unless you’re going on an audition for the CBS Diversity Showcase.

Since I didn’t much care about the outcome, I was more relaxed than most of the hopefuls in the waiting area. At first we all eyed each other without a word. They were studying their characters. We were all supposed to come prepared with 1-3 minutes of funny characters to perform.  Their nerves were sweating. I was just thinking, ‘This is LA! This is a real LA experience! Cooooooool!” Thankfully, my friend Roy had recently taken my picture for his own photography portfolio, so I printed two headshots at Kinko’s.

“That looks really amateur,” some Asian guy in a bow tie told me. “Headshots are 8×10, not 8.5×11.”

He had smaller headshots, and he was clearly “diverse.” Dammit.
They called me in. The first thing they said was, “Let’s take a look at your resume.”

Oh that.
I thought I had been clever to write a little paragraph about myself instead of trying to make those plays in high school seem recent and relevant in resume form.
“Oh, look,” the director said. “You wrote us a little paragraph. Ok.”
“Well,” I said. “I’ve never auditioned for anything before.”

You should probably not say that at an audition.

I performed my characters for them. One was my mom, another was a condescending life coach, and another was a girl trying out for a diversity showcase who wasn’t at all diverse.

“If your mom’s Latina, why is she talking about using a coupon at Chili’s?” he asked, which I realize now is kind of racist.
“My dad’s the Hispanic one,” I said.
“What does he sound like?”
“Well, he’s dead. He sounds silent.”
Everyone laughed. I thought I had them! I was in! I had finally killed at an audition!

“Come over here. I need to see you up close.” The director had to check me out to see if I was really Hispanic. I didn’t know that you could tell someone’s ethnicity by looking at them up close, but I guess this guy could.

As he stepped into my personal space, my nerves exploded. This man was examining me, and I had never felt so awkward.

“Hablas espanol?” he asked.
“Si. Hablo espanol perfectamente,” le dije, which is kind of a lie. I speak Spanish, but not perfectly.
“Ah! Y tienes accento Espanol,” he said.
And then I said something so dumb, I have not stopped thinking about it since.
“Si. Hablo espanol pero ahora es dificil porque tengo sed.” (‘I can’t really speak Spanish with you right now because I’m thirsty.’ Yeah. I said that. I WAS REALLY THIRSTY).
“Huh?” he asked.
“Tengo tanta sed!” I said. (I’m so thirsty!).

And then he walked away.

“I’m really thirsty.” is worse than “I carried a watermelon.” But when a room of twenty people is testing you to see if you’re really who you are, it gets pretty intense. I just went with what I was feeling at the moment, which was a thirst! It’s their fault. There was no water fountain in the whole damn place. I’m thirsty just thinking about it again.

So, I will not be performing at this year’s CBS Diversity Showcase. But, I did get to learn a few things.

1. Auditions are funny and competitive and should be attended with 8x10s.
2. I’m ethnically ambiguous, and I don’t need to try to prove anything anymore. I’m just an American who gets thirsty when speaking Spanish.
3. Dead dad jokes always get a laugh (unless they’re in my standup routine, which sometimes never gets laughs.)
4. Latina moms don’t ever go to Chili’s.