The Conway Corner

I've been auditioning a good amount here in the city, and I'll pretty much audition for anything. I go from waiting around at AEA (Actor's Equity Association) for a Broadway show and never ever being seen one day, to disorganized unpaid student films where I'm the only auditioner the next. So my first or second week in New York, I got an e-mail from a student film maker who seemed really excited for me to have sent him my headshot and resume, and sent his script as an attachment.

I believe whole-heartedly in going into an audition prepared to the point of bleeding, but that doesn't mean I always put it into practice. I was busy working on We Three, auditioning elsewhere, and going to my real job, so I only read the first scene of this film script. It consisted of a scene involving some character I would be playing and his friends at Coney Island riding the Cyclone. I was excited about the prospect of filming at Coney Island, but not excited enough the go to the next page of the script.

Anyway, I told the director I would meet him in Union Square one day. I waited around for a while, and after calling him incessantly, he finally answered and apologetically said there had been a mix up and he thought we had agreed to meet a different day. So we then arranged to meet after I finished working in Williamsburg one afternoon. I trot over to the Roebling Tea room to conduct the audition/interview without any idea what I was doing. Normally a director will make sure to say 'bring a classical monologue' or 'there will be sides at the audition.' I had no clue.

I'm a little early, so I take a seat and order a sandwich. Shortly, a tall, thin, quite gay, twenty something in short shorts recognizes me from my headshot and sits down across from me. After the obligatory introductions he asks how I liked the script. Maintaining my cool, I mention how I'd be interested in filming at Coney Island, and how I thought the dialogue was distinct yet genuine. But, not wanting to reveal my neglect, I smoothly transition into my own endeavors with No. 11 and so forth.

After humoring a number of my tangents, the director says, "Well. I just want you to know that everyone else who I've talked to has been really passionate about this script. Do you have any other thoughts you'd like to share about it?" I realize that I'm about to slip and fall in a mound of horseshit. All I have to cling to is my previous nonsense about the script being genuine, and liking Coney Island.

The director has obviously picked up that I have not gotten past the second page of his masterpiece and says, "You know, I met with an eighteen year old earlier today. After a few minutes, I realized that he hadn't even read the script I send him. So I asked myself, 'why were we even meeting?' " He waited expecting some type of response from me. I let out a short panicked laugh, and said something like "Huh. Yeah."

The director out of nowhere asked where I had been before this meeting. I responded that I was just a few blocks away at a real estate office where I worked. He responded, "Well, good. I'm glad I haven't made you go too far out of your way." Luckily for me at this point the director took the initiative to close our interview/audition, and said he would give me a call. Without bothering to wait for the check for the tea he ordered, he handed the waitress cash on the way out. I finished my sandwich.

At the rehearsal for We Three that night I told my fellow company members about my experience that afternoon. After which Ryan asked, "What was the film called?" I said, "Glory Holes." The company burst out in laughter while I smiled in confusion. I had no clue what a 'glory hole' was, but apparently everyone else did. Barely holding back his feverish giggling, Ryan informed me that a glory hole was a whole in a bathroom stall through which men stick their phallus and engage in felatio with other men anonymously. Upon further investigation, we discovered that the script was about precisely this matter. The character I was auditioning for ended up having anonymous oral sex in the bathroom at Coney Island, featuring my penis rather prominently. Its involvement was intricately described in the stage directions. I am left wondering what the remainder of my audition would have consisted of, had I demonstrated familiarity with the material.

Embarrassed, and a little terrified, I learned my lesson. Acting is pornography.

Written by Mitchell Conway