Sometimes, you feel like just a number. Other times, you feel like "Asian guy No. 35." Today, I was No. 336 for a print audition. Stood in line among other numbers, of all different shells, listening to my iPod and playing a game on my cell phone.
A woman behind me kept urging me forward with her body language. How can I describe it? She stood off just to the side of me, but close enough so that I felt her vibrations, which made me want to move away from her. But if I moved to the side, away from her, then that would probably signal to her to move in front of me. Hmm, I wonder if that's how she drives...
The line actually wasn't so bad. It was finding parking at 3 p.m. around Santa Monica Blvd. in Hollywood that was insane. And forget plugging a meter. You'll never know how long the line will take.
Tonight, I'm celebrating at a fancy restaurant downtown called Windows. It's supposed to have great steaks, wines, salads and desserts. What for? Well, let's just say that, after checking my mailbox when I got home from the audition, I feel like a supermodel.
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