In my limited experience, so far, I seem to get the telephone, the call back, or the part only once I have given up hope of not actually getting the role. I work through my five stages of grief, I, decide I will try again next time, and the moment I find peace and strength renewed my cell phone rings and I am filled with disbelief all over again.
My mom had a feeling when this specific process had started for me. She had prayed for something for me, something to help with the start of my production company, and a few days later I had phoned with the news of a call back for a potentially large and important job. She got every prayer chain and Bible study group that she knew of praying for me. I prayed for this work. Each time I prayed to make it through the next round.
I did the second call back, and my agent called to ask about my measurements. I sent them. I waited. She emailed me again, claiming that they wanted headshots. I sent them, and waited. Then my agent emailed me and said that final decisions for casting would be made either Wednesday afternoon or Thursday morning. Wednesday afternoon came. I walked out of the buildings of the tertiary institutions were I am lecturing temporarily to find my car stolen and for a few moments all thoughts of impending phone calls and would-be trips to Cape Town were expunged with a surprising sense of loss, frustration and a feeling of absolute powerlessness. Even the consolation of a celebrity who happened upon my crying in the buildings foyer didn’t bring my career to mind. It was only when a friend asked me later the day if I had gotten the job that it returned unbidden to my mind and the sense of loss was stilled slightly with the add-on of “or Thursday morning”.
That night, crying, I prayed for confirmation. For work.
By 12 on Thursday my faith in myself started to waver. I started consoling myself, preparing myself for the blow, as did a friend of mine. By 14:30 my self control caved into a sea of disappointment and I emailed my agent to hear if anything had been heard, confirmed or denied.
She forwarded and email to me apologising and claiming that she had been out of the office and without my details:
“Please hold a HOT first pencil on Chandré Bo”
I still don’t know exactly what that means, but it gave me hope. The email continued to explain shoot dates, as well as inquiring about the status of my driver’s licence.
I had hope again. I had a lot of hope.
Friday morning came and went. The hope started fading again. And I realised that even if I didn’t get the job I would OK. I would go to the next audition knowing that I nearly made it. And maybe this time I would actually make it. Maybe this time…
I had spoken to my mom earlier that morning and she had started consoling. Started laying the ground work in case I didn’t get the job. I case I didn’t get to go to Cape Town and get some perspective on my theft. In case she found her daughter in a puddle of tears and drowned dreams.
And then, at 1:30 my cell phone rang.
Confirmation. My agent had my at congratulations and I was skipping around the campus’s court yard with my cell phone plastered to my ears as my agent gave through more details, names of people who would contact me and flight plans.
I called my mom. I was still going to tease her, pretend that I had got a rejection and then let her know the good news. When the answered the phone I could hear the trepidation in her voice, as well, as well as the disappointment for me.
“Is it good or bad news”
I didn’t have the heart. She was completely joined with my in this one:
“I got it. I’m going to Cape Town!”
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