The Audition

A friend here introduced me to a casting director in BA. The casting director, Alfredo, then promptly called me in for a commercial audition. We were communicating by email, and he didn't tell me what it was for, just to dress "like Sex in the City." Fine. I get there, and Alfredo, the only person in the office who speaks English, is running around, so he places me in the hands of an assistant.

I must first tell you all that my Spanish comprehension is getting much better. I still can't actually SAY anything, but I can understand a lot more than when I first arrived. The assistant takes me into the taping room, and asks me if I know what the commercial is about, what it's for. No, I don't. And then he tells me:

NIVEA ANTI-CELLULITE CREAM!!!!!!!!

Hahahahahaha. It's true, guys.

Anyway, he begins to explain that at the beginning of the commercial, I'm sad because, well, I have cellulite. He plays some music and tells me that I have to dance slowly and melancholically (thinking about my cottage cheese thighs, I presume). Then the music picks up in pace, and I'm HAPPY! HAPPY cuz I used the Nivea Anti-Celullite Cream and I don't have cellulite anymore!!! Yippee! He dances around, demonstrating. Great. He tells me that I should be constantly smiling in this section, and I say, no problem. It is NO problem for me to be smiling - it IS a problem, however, for me not to be LAUGHING! Then, he says something I don't understand, something about my clothes. "Como?," I respond (I must say this 100 times a day). He mimes something - I still don't understand. Then he shows me some tape of a previous audition, to clarify. Ah! He wants me to do all this ruminating about my cellulite in my underwear!!!! Unfortunately - or fortunately, I guess - I'm not wearing a bra. I tell him this, and he shudders. Okay, what about the bottom part?, he asks. No luck down there, either - a lacey, transparent thong that's kinda old and has a few holes. He looks perplexed. He says he might have something for me to wear. He leaves the room, and comes back with a mini-skirt that looks to me more like a large belt. Doesn't fit. Exasperated, he just tells me to wear what I'm wearing and if the director likes me, they'll have me come back and do it again.

Something tells me I won't be going back for a second round.