I stroll down 63rd street looking for a casting for a designer I’ve never met. Usually these things are in studios or offices, rarely are they in actual boutiques. I see an address two numbers above and below where I need to be. Great. Where the fuck is this place? It’s raining and I’m tired because I stayed up too late watching Twilight Zone. I get a call from my agency.
“Hey Melissa, your casting at 10am has been moved to 11am.”
“But it’s 10am and I’m two blocks away.”
“Well they’re not there yet.”
“Ok no problem, thanks.” (Which translates into: “Those asshole cunts better hurry up.”)
I find a Starbucks, order a chai latte, sit by the window and play words with friends on my ipad. I always wonder what those esteemed-looking attractive people at coffee shops are doing on their devices. Most of them are probably on facebook rather than sending important emails to CEOs or clients like they’d want everyone to think. Or like I’d like to believe. I just assume everyone is doing more significant things than I, because modeling is just about the least important job one could have.
An hour passes and I walk back to the casting. The address I am looking for does not exist, I see a few ladies sitting in a clothing boutique so I open the door and ask them if this is where the casting is. One lady glances up from her iphone and then back down. I stare at her. I ask again if this is the casting for so and so clothing. She stares at me and impatiently says yes I just told you that. Another lady wearing a diamond studded watch and ridiculous makeup for her age looks at me, pauses, and says, “well, where’s your book?”
“It’s right fucking here. No one answered me when I asked if I this was the casting. You don’t have a proper address on your shitty boutique and apparently you’re too important to be bothered, even though I am the only model at this casting. Let me take my jacket off and get my book out of my bag because it’s fucking raining if you can’t tell you blind old bitch.”
…is what I said to myself. I gave her a naive smile like I’m 17 and have no idea what’s going on in the world. She looks through my book and tells me I photograph beautifully. Experience tells me that when people vocally express their interest in you, you don’t book the job. Why? No idea, that’s how it’s been for me. She takes a few photos and then I leave. Later that night I get a call from my agency,
“Melissa did you make it to the so and so casting?”
“Umm, yeah, why?”
“Well they don’t remember seeing you.”
“Of course not.”