Friday night's callback went fairly well, I thought. I read for an older woman's role, complete with French accent. The dance portion of the audition kicked my butt from here to Nova Scotia, but the choreographer said that even when I was offstep or on the wrong foot, I still had very fluid, clean lines. Uh...yeah. Whatever.
The call came early this morning -- no speaking role, but a voice role in the chorus. It was a sop to my singing....we liked you enough to have you associated with the show, just not enough to give you a major part. Ah, well. At least I got a notification this time, and it's a foot back in the door. Community theater here (and most likely everywhere else, too...) is so insular and incestuous that it's hard to get into the inner circle, so this is a good way to transition back into more work. I'm slightly disappointed, but it's better by miles than not hearing anything at all. And, if this doesn't sound too terrible of me, someone could always drop out. I know that sounds positively awful, but the one thing about working as an unpaid volunteer is that people sometimes do drop out, and the role needs to be filled.
So, first run-through is a week from today. The two co-workers that I auditioned with are both cast as well. The female co-worker got a voice role, much like I did, and the male co-worker got a small older gentleman's role. I'm happy to be in the chorus, if nothing else.
We went to dinner tonight in a "famous" local bar and grill. We were seated near the game room, and there was a large party next to us that had about four children in tow. The parents were what I call the "yacht" set -- very Land's End/L.L. Bean yuppie types who care more for appearances than actual substance. There was an older girl who was about Offspring's age, a boy of about seven, a girl of about nine, and a toddler.
The kids started off in the game room, which had the swinging "saloon-style" doors. They were pretty noisy in there, but it wasn't so bad because it was, after all, a separate room. The doors did little to mitigate the noise, however.
After a while, the kids began running in and out of the game room, yelling and generally being rambunctious. We looked around several times, hoping the looks would get the parents to quiet them, but no dice. The parents were completely oblivious, sitting there eating their appetizers, drinking their little cocktails, and having a conversation.
Juggling Freak made a loud comment that the kids were being very loud, but this too, went unheeded. The kids proceeded to start turning flips over the brass railing that was next to the table behind us. The parents still do nothing to quiet the children down, or to get them to behave.
Then the kids start shouting as they flip over the bannister, and Juggling Freak has had enough. Usually, it's me that has had enough by this point, and I was on the verge of saying something out loud when JF lets loose. He says something about "why can't you little yard apes sit down and be f*#@ing quiet?!"
Well, of course, NOW the parents speed into action. The father puffs up like a little bantam rooster, and gets in JF's face saying NO ONE speaks to his kids that way; the mother stands there, stammering and red-faced that someone has *dared* speak to her precious babies; and the grandmother looks as if someone has smeared dung under her nose and told her that Martha Stewart really began her life as a streetwalker in Hoboken.
The grandmother gets all hot under the collar, saying that they come there every week, and that if we're so offended, we should move -- they *are* children after all. I calmly tell her that yes, they are children, but that we're dining with OUR child, and she has yet to vault over the brass railing like these children were doing. She reiterates that we're sitting next to the game room! Juggling Freak says, yeah -- it's a GAME room, not a Jungle Gym.
Snooty Grandmother acts as if we're just the most horrible people on the planet, and imperiously tells the others at their table to go get the manager to "deal with us." What makes me the maddest is that she acted like we were totally out of line, and she was perfectly within her rights to have us moved out of the way, as if WE were the people making the disturbance. Things eventually settle down, and everyone goes back to their meals. The wait staff look uncomfortable as they whisk away our dishes. The young man at the table behind us, however, gives Juggling Freak a thumbs-up as we leave the restaurant a few minutes later.
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