The Diary of the Third SAG Voucher

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

A diary entry of my experience auditioning for the Los Angeles Comedy Festival

The Diary of The Third Voucher

Today I received my third SAG voucher at a commercial extra job, making me eligible to join the Screen Actor’s Guild.What this means is that now I can dish out even more money to make myself legit with a union card, as I keep waiting for work like the rest of the bunch. Anyway you look at it, today has been eventful.

My third voucher gig was playing a catering server in a national Yellow Pages spot, so at least my years of schlepping trays of dirty dishes and serving drinks to the beautiful Hollywood elite served me well.I was one of 12 servers marching as part of a parade going down “Main Street U.S.A”, which was actually a very nice, quaint neighborhood in South Pasadena.The premise of the spot was that someone is sitting in their house and they begin looking up businesses, services, etc. in the Yellow Pages. When they find one, for example Maid Service, they hear parade band music coming from outside and lookout their window, and marching past are several maids doing their thing.I have to admit, it was a pretty witty ad, but because my catering group was the first of the parade, we had to keep marching past the cameras with our heavy trays of glasses so we wouldn’t interrupt the flow.For over eight hours, I marched as fast as I could with other waiters in proper four by three parade formation down an entire city block in about 85 degree temperatures.Can you say chafe?I’m pretty sure I saw smoke coming from between the legs of the bulky guy in front of me.I guess I paid my dues for the elusive 3rd voucher.Quite honestly I never really worried about the background/voucher bullshit because I always thought I’d just get a Taft Hartley/Union job, but you never really can predict how things will work out.So far I’m zero for many in the predict the future department.

After I got home from South Pas, I had to quickly prepare my audition for The L.A. Comedy Festival.I was doing just under ten minutes of Allen Dillerman Junior the Third, or ADJ3, from my last solo show, “L.A. Safari”.My audition was to take place at the festival location, The McCadden Place Theatre, in the heart of Hollywood.

As I drove down tranny filled Santa Monica Boulevard, I took a left onto McCadden Place and passed the club Circus on my left.Circus is a gigantic gay dance club where I had the pleasure of working last New Years Eve.No joke-six thousand seedy, meth and ecstasy pumped homosexuals gyrating to electronica beats.I saw a four hundred pound Marilyn Monroe singing “gonna party like it’s 1999!”, tattoo covered gay gang bangers, and grown black leather clad men striking each other with whips.Six thousand!And not just your average gay dudes, but the kinds who shoot smack in the alley and give BJ’s to married business men in limos.Not 2, not 3, six thousand!The only reason I took the gig was first-I didn’t know Circus was a gigantic gay dance club, and second-I was promised big tips.The nut bag manager of the event, John, who resembles Herman Munster, put me on complimentary champagne bar.Consequently, my plan of making lots of money was blown to pieces as I stood their bitterly handing mini bottles of champagne to non tipping leather and stud clad men.Later, just before midnight, John took me up to the VIP bar, which was jam packed full of aggressive, drunk, obnoxious dudes with their VIP passes.All I heard for the next two hours was “6 coronas and 12 adios motherfuckers motherfucker!”Any group behaving like this, regardless of their sexuality, is pure trash.And to think I chose the gig over a very easy, lucrative gig at a private home in Brentwood for 12 guests.Instead of this nightmare, I would have served some cocktails and wine to rich, clean people listening to the soothing sounds of Bossa Nova, and walked with over seven hundred dollars.My final take at Circus-two fitty!

When I arrived to the theatre, 3 mimes stood-one boy, one girl, and an old man who dressed as a drunk tranny mime.Apparently they were part of a “radical sketch group” as they later explained, and were auditioning just before me.When the somewhat obese festival head, Lauren, came out to bring them in, she asked me if I wanted to watch, and of course I said yes.What an opportunity! The auditions were already running about 40 minutes behind so I just wanted to do my thing and get the hell out, since it was now around 11PM and I was up at 4AM for the gig.

The mimes began placing their many props around the stage, including wrapped presents, blankets, paintings and peices of random junk.The girl mime then put some very bizarre music repeating the lyrics “welcome to the nuthouse” with a man laughing deeply throughout.Then they proceeded to talk to each other in an unintelligible sound: “we we uh a nue we uh bea no wok motti”.It sounded like Japanese mixed with some type of squealing rodent, but more than anything, just plain irritating.Back and forth they went mime jabbering, making no sense and revealing nothing similar to comedy or an actual plot.One mime ended up being Charlie Chaplin and began a rap just repeating “I’m Charlie Chaplin….Papplin’ Happlin’ Nappin’ I’m Charlie Chaplin”.At that point, the girl reached into one of the boxes and began throwing handfuls of little micro dot confetti all over, so it not only covered the stage, but half the seats as well.I simply could not believe my eyes as I sat there, my mouth slightly ajar, in a strange state of bemusement.The same feeling has crossed me when watching David Hasshlehoff do anything.

After about six minutes, Lauren said out loud, “that’s it right?”, and they abruptly stopped, looked at each other, turned off the music, and said as three very sad, depressed mimes, “yeah yeah…that’s…it.”They all gathered their props, tried to clean up the confetti with a wet paper toweling, which only plastered it to the stage, and left.I felt sorry for them, because honestly, they were simply pathetic and not the least bit funny.I had just experienced a moment in the world of the film “Clockwork Orange” or “Willy Wonkas Chocolate Factory”, a world that begins to make you feel queasy, wishing for a hot shower, blue sky daylight, and oxygen.The boy said to me right before he exited, “so uh…we do a show every week…check it out sometime…it’s….funny.”I’m pretty sure he went home and cried in full mime attire, screaming into his pillow “no one gets our stuff man!”

Instead of racing up and doing my audition and getting the hell out, Lauren asked me if I’d help her clean up the confetti.We crawled around on our hands and knees and scraped the fucking mime’s confetti off the stage. I finally did my comedic monologue, and it went as good as comedy goes in front of a woman who just had her theatre trashed my three mimes.I’ll make sure to mark “radical mime sketch” off my list of must sees. Even though my monologue was kind of a clunker, I left there feeling that I must have made a decent impression after the mime disaster and that I'd be a "shoe in". I mean surely I scored points helping Laura clean up the place.
About a month later I received an email from the L.A. Comedy Festival and it began:

Dear Ryan,

Thanks for auditioning for the L.A. Comedy Festival…..

I knew I was screwed.Rejected, Iwrote the following email, which unfortunately, I do not regret to this day:

Dear Lauren,
Thanks for not accepting me into your festival, I really enjoyed helping you clean the fucking mime confetti off the stage.
Yours Truly
Ryan Anglin

Honestly, when I sent the email I wasn’t angry but amused at how flippant I could be during a time of such rejection. A door slammed in my face and here I was smiling sinisterly and sending an email which would most likely burn this bridge into white ash. And what about those pesky mimes? They weren't accepted either and the poor things are probably plugging away as I speak at some rat hole theatre in the Valley, performing their radical “high jinx” to a half dozen perplexed audience members.


Submitted: January 06, 2009

© Copyright 2020 Ryan Anglin. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Classy Peach

two fitty!

man Ryan, you got it rough, dawg!
i have definitely enjoyed this giggle story.

when posting on booksie, it is best to use alot of space between paragraphs, it's way easier to readers pleasures.

Yours truly,
peach.

Tue, January 6th, 2009 4:20am

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