behind the curtain

Yesterday, I had to be three kinds of human. Mysteriously Sad Human, Blossoming Activist Human, Slightly Broken Human. And I needed to be a particular race for each of these humans, requiring an entirely new hairdo for each role. (My hair is not happy with me today. SO MUCH STYLING.)

Having nothing and everything to do with my chameleon tricks and my pounding of the city pavement, I was struck once again by how rare it is to encounter a human OF ANY TYPE these days. It broke 80 in the city, which always brings out questionable behavior in force. As I strolled to my first subway ride of the day, determined to set a relaxed pace for the hours ahead, a biker casually coasted onto the sidewalk, bringing a wide eyed stare and his sweaty mug inches in front of my face. A baffled toe on his front tire, I glared: Really? Seriously? That's what you're going with? That's the choice you've made?

What he replied, emotionless and bored, as if speaking to me from another plane, one in which I did not exist further than my apparently captivating beauty. I rolled my eyes and shook my head and moved on.

Running the gauntlet of purse and perfume hawkers at 28th street, Mysteriously Sad Human headed into the first call, which involved multiple takes of crying on cue. My competition was more cutthroat than usual. It was a callback (the second and *usually* final round before getting a job, though god knows I've been to ninth and tenth callbacks), so the stakes were higher. This is when some actors will employ mind games to psyche out their competition. IT'S SUPER FUN! The waiting room was filled with mostly quiet ladies, respectful that any female in the room was readying herself to get all teary eyed. For my turn "on deck" (where you stand and wait before heading into the audition room), two actors parked themselves inches away from my face and embarked on a banal, loud conversation, shooting me odd pointed looks, emotionless and bored. Really? Seriously? That's what you're going with? That's the choice you've made?

(This time, I said the mantra of the day in my head, because I'm used to silly actors and their silly ways and I refuse to validate actor silliness. I rolled my eyes and shook my head and moved on.)

In the sunshine filled streets of the West Village, Mother With Baby and a stroller the size of the Grand Canyon set her sights on me, pushing her charge directly into my path, fixing me with what can only be called a murderous stare. Walk to the right, IT'S NOT HARD I intoned, emotionless and bored, as I planted my feet on the pavement and waited for her to move around me. At this point I was Blossoming Activist Human, so no-nonsense mode was in full swing. Dirty looks all around. I think even the baby was glaring at that point. 

A roll of the eyes, the day went on, the auditions went on, the hairstyles went on, until I landed in Midtown. My competition was invisible, I was the only human in the waiting room. Truly, it was the cherry on top: Slightly Broken Human on one side of the table, twenty five Humans With Power on the other side of the table, and as far as I could tell, the definition of emotionless and bored. A handful of words were spoken apart from the audition material, most of them mine. Turnabout is fair play: their "thank you" had a double meaning; translation: Really? Seriously? That's what you're going with? THAT'S THE CHOICE YOU'VE MADE?

As I left the building, I rolled my eyes and shook my head and broke the pencil in my hand in half .

Now don't go worrying, two out of three ain't bad; there are far worse things in the world to deal with than a bad day. And hey, I returned home to the best human that I know, who is currently making some of the tastiest meatballs in Manhattan. LUCKY DOESN'T COVER IT. But a day like that does beg the question (and I question myself, as well, I'm sure I was no ray of sunshine for about 8 of those 10 hours): whatever the day might be, what if we tried to be the best definition of Human that we can personally come up with?

The day might get better.