fuenf neun scaling the alps

Yesterday, I received a phone call from the very, very local television station completely out of the blue asking me to come in for an audition. I’ve met these people before and have been suckered into generally making a fool of myself (and Christian!) for their English-language program, but this was the first time they’d ever asked me to do anything as formal as an audition. So I postponed my much anticipated return to swimming and “Hot Dance” at my gym this afternoon in favor of going over to the station’s office for this so-called audition.

This office is absolutely awesome, by the way, at least to my bohemian heart. It’s in this wonderfully decrepit building in a wonderfully decrepit part of town. A big green velvet curtain hangs in the entryway. The walls are lined with artsy pictures, presumably taken by one of the camera men and movie posters for a few Chinese movies that are specific enough they could very well be the product of this program’s director. The furniture is wonderfully hideous and covered in sheets of even more wonderful hideousness. There’s a gigantic, ancient movie projector. There’s a small white dog and a small white puppy… Basically, this place is the artists’ workshop of my dreams with a bunch of high powered Apple computers thrown in to satisfy my inner-geek.

I showed up, not really sure what to expect, but figuring I’d be in and out with enough time to lounge over a mocha at Starbucks and run some errands afterward before scuttering home to relieve the ayi from Nico’s love-bites. Little did I know what awaited me. Almost immediately after my arrival, the translator was hauling me off to a nearby hairdresser to get my hair done. This involved an hour of hair-pulling that could put Nico to shame. That was to be followed by forty five minutes in a makeup chair while a man, who I later found out thought my skin was absolutely terrible, glued giant caterpillar eyelashes to my eyelids and caked my skin in buckets of makeup. Another forty five minutes to fix my nails, and I returned to the office with the translator for what was presumably the audition.

The audition itself lasted all of ten minutes. I had to memorize a line and say it for the camera. Introduced myself. Stand with my side and back to the camera. Read a mind-numbingly dull blurb, and tell an interesting story “about something interesting.” I pretty much stumbled through it all, relying on a perky persona to hopefully cover up all my mistakes (and there were many) and the fact that I’m really not a terribly interesting person. When I was done making a fool of myself, the translator said they’d give me a call in a few days with the director had a chance to review the footage and make a decision.

But no one was able to tell me exactly what kind of job a successful audition would get me or even why they were asking me to audition in the first place.

Although, if I have to peel those freaking eyelashes off regularly, it may not be the job for me after all, though it was great fun freaking out Christian when he got home to see his wife had been replaced by a Russian prostitute.