Dog walker

Twas another day, another audition. 

I received the breakdown for the advert the night before.  The whole advert is to take place on a garage forecourt and will be filmed predominantly on CCTV.

They need to see me for one of three parts but at this stage they don’t know which one they want to see me for. 

First up, female taxi driver, must be able to actually drive.  She is checking her tyre pressure and is singing loudly along to the radio.

Second, a dog walking lady who lets her dog pee on the forecourt and gets yelled at by an angry man.

Third, a frisky girlfriend playfully dancing to the garage forecourt music whilst she washes the car.

A decade of auditions has taught me not to put myself in the prettier girl league, so with this knowledge accepted and intact, I focus on the roles of taxi driver and dog walker, and put myself firmly in dog walker attire and mindset.

Bring on the audition. 

In Soho. 

I walk there from my temp job through the throngs of people on their lunch break, past the doors and alleys where you can get a girl to do a number of things for only a fiver.  I am genuinely upset by how degrading some of the doorsteps and signs on doors look.  Deep in thought I walk on to my audition.

After a short wait I am summoned in, with a holler of my name, into a room with a casting lady and her camera man.  She is loud but charming and fun.  After looking me up and down and pausing…I’d dressed in a fleece (subliminal message – I am a dog walker, walking a dog, I’d look great as a dog walker, I should be cast right now based on my fleece) she spoke;

“Ohhhhhhhhhh K….Right, so you are on a garage forecourt…

And…

Your boyfriend, of maybe six months, is in the car and you are washing the car, mainly the bonnet.  I want a few winks and cheeky smiles at him, you’re enjoying yourself, you’re not actually trying to seduce him, you’re just playful.  Keep your arms up here…” she gestures at a bonnet about hip height (an invisible bonnet), “and just keep going til I tell you to stop”.

As she walks away from me, she points in the air at her camera man and says ‘Hit it!’

Beyonce blares out – so loud, so loud that I can’t really hear her speak anymore, and suddenly I am dancing, rubbing my hands up and down an invisible bonnet winking at my invisible boyfriend.

She screams,

“Shake your hips a bit more,

Now up and down,

Yep, great, that’s it!

A few more winks.

Great.

More hips…”

We did it three times.

And I did not get the job.

I walked back through the streets I had just poured out prayers on and observed that these ladies got one thing right.  They made sure they got paid money for taking off their fleece and dancing.  I did it for free.  For strangers.  On camera.  And that, my friends, is what you call a jobbing actor.