By Anka Chiorini
I walk in. As I start my song, my phone rings. I finish my song, distracted by the phone.
Outcome: I am not cast because of my poor audition etiquette. It turns out my mom was calling to tell me about a family emergency.
I walk in. It turns out that the directors have discovered “What Will Happen at My Musical Audition (Part One).” They did not think it was funny.
Outcome: I am not cast, but the directors do give me a lot of really good feedback about how to make my jokes land better.
I walk in. The director and I exchange pleasantries. She asks if I have gotten my drivers license yet. I tell her that I haven’t. A silence falls over the room. I sing my song, but there are weird vibes coming from the director.
Outcome: I do not get cast because I can’t drive myself to and from rehearsals. The director also judges me harshly because only losers have their learner permits for more than a year. She also makes fun of me for not being able to parallel park.
I walk in. This is not an audition, but a college interview. The director, who is actually an admissions counselor from my dream school, asks me several questions about my extracurriculars. She is confused by my interest in satire.
Outcome: I leave the “audition” confused. I write a thank you letter to the admissions counselor and wait to hear if I’ve gotten in or not. I do not get in.
I walk in. The directors ask for my height. I tell them that I am 5’3”. They laugh and make fun of me.
“Did you hear that?” the director says. “She thinks she’s 5’3”.”
“Ha! She’s only 5’2” and three quarters,” the choreographer says.
“Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha,” says the music director.
I try to sing my song, but they start chanting the word “short” at me.
“Short. Short. Short. Short. Short. Short. Short…”
Outcome: I run out of the audition room as fast as my short legs will allow. I am not cast because of my height, but I use my newfound free time to get really good at basketball just to spite the directors. I am offered a WNBA contract, despite only being 5’2” and three quarters. But it doesn’t matter because I didn’t get cast in the school musical.
I walk in. While I am singing my song, I am mentally rewriting my college essay. I realize that my essay is low key trash just as I reach the climax of my song. I cry as I finish the audition.
Outcome: After I leave the audition, I go straight home to rework my college essay. While I am working, I receive an email from the director saying that I am not cast because it was really weird that I cried during my audition. I cry some more. However, I write a new college essay based on this experience and it is fucking great. I get into Harvard.
I walk in. The directors are my boyfriend’s parents. They interrogate me about my intentions with their son.
Outcome: I do not get cast and I am deemed unworthy of dating their son. I die alone.
I walk in. It turns out that this is an audition for the 2019 Off-Broadway production of Fiddler on the Roof in Yiddish (also known as Fiddler Afn Dakh). I don’t speak Yiddish and give a borderline offensive rendition of “Matchmaker” (“Shadkhnte, Shadkhnte”).
Outcome: I am not cast and Joel Grey accuses me of being a bad Jew. My ancestors roll in their graves.
I walk in. The director, who is pregnant, goes into labor during my audition. Everyone panics. I step in and successfully deliver the baby, despite having never delivered a baby before. The director thanks me profusely.
Outcome: My role in the birth of her baby has no impact on the director’s casting decisions and I am cast in the ensemble.
I write a really bad satirical piece about my musical audition as a sequel to a piece I wrote a year earlier. The sequel isn’t nearly as funny and just feels forced. I submit it two weeks after my deadline.
Outcome: I am cast in the ensemble and fired by The Milking Cat.