What's in a HM? Or the Adventures of Egg Girl

They're going to remember me as Egg Girl.

I'm not sure that's a good thing. I'm not sure that's a bad thing.

You see, today I auditioned for one of my favorite local companies, Available Light Theatre. I've been a fan since I saw my first show and have even been fortunate enough to work with them. So, I signed up a few weeks ago when I heard they were holding season auditions, and this morning I dusted off a few old monologues and got myself to the Riffe Center for my two minutes.

As I made my way out of the house, Hubby followed me and shoved a napkin in my hand. "I made you a road sandwich!" he declared proudly. Not really registering this, I nodded as I mentally worked through my monologues, the directions to the space, whether or not I had my headshot/resume; I muttered, "Yeah thanks" and tossed it onto the passenger seat, along with my purse.

Driving to the space, I probably entertained the people in neighboring cars as I ran through some vocal warm-ups and my monologues. I completely forgot about the road sandwich...

...until I parked, slung my bag over my shoulder and saw it there, slightly smushed and leaking egg yolk onto my already stained car seat. I grabbed a wipe and did a quickie job of removing the yolky cheesy puddle from the upholstery before giving up and hustling inside to do some vocal warm-ups before my scheduled audition time. I paid the parking meter (thanking the powers of consumerism that it took credit cards) and started to hoof it inside. I chatted with the security guys who, very suavely and sweetly wished me the proper broken limb when they learned I'd be auditioning on the fourth floor.

It wasn't until the elevator ride when I checked out my reflection in the reflective doors that I noticed my right shoulder was covered in egg and cheese, now hardening into a thick mass in the shape of my purse strap. "Awesome," I said out loud but unconvincingly. Then I began the arduous process of picking off bits of road sandwich from my shoulder. And although I removed most of it, I was still left with a ghostly yet distinct eggy imprint.

I tried to put it out of my mind as I signed in, filled out the form, handed in my headshot/resume, and went on with my vocal warm-ups. After only a few minutes, which also included pleasant banter with another woman auditioning and with the audition monitor (a fine actor I'd seen in their productions before), they called me into the room.

Before I could stop myself I blurted out, "I'm not usually covered in egg." And then I blurted out the whole sordid tale in about ten seconds, panicking that they'd see my egg clad shoulder and think, Wow, this chick couldn't even be bothered to wear a clean shirt. After my babbling preamble, though, I started to worry that now they'd be thinking, Wow. This chick is nuts. One of the directors said, "I wouldn't have even noticed." To which I thought and said, "And now you won't be able to stop looking at it." Sigh.

With that inauspicious beginning I launched into my two contrasting pieces. I did fine, I think. Not my best work, though not the unmitigated disaster I described here either. My first piece, from Eve Ensler's Floating Rhoda and the Glue Man is a sort of dreamy, poetic, dramatic piece. And my last piece, from Alan Ball's "Power Lunch" is a riot. It's a lively piece with a high energy ending.

So how did they react?

Right after I finished, one of the directors said...

"Hm."

Just like that.

Now what does that mean?

All the way home, I wondered about this. Was that "Hm" as in, "Hm. What an interesting pair of monologues and how smart she was to pair these together. And hm what a great actor and even though we've worked with her before, these pieces showcased her range in a way I find intriguing and I must cast her to see what she's really capable of doing. Hm. We're lucky she showed up today. Hm. Which parts should I cast her in?"

Or was that "Hm" as in, "Hm, that was obnoxious/pathetic/boring/stupid/too fast/too slow and just not what I was looking for. Hm. I wonder how long until lunch. Hm, that egg on her shoulder is disgusting."

Of course, maybe the hm was indigestion or a belch or something.

Time will tell the fate of Egg Girl.