1 pm CST. Friday, February 24, 2012. Chicago, IL.
It has been 49 days since 1 pm CST on January 6, 2012, when the powers-that-be first spoke to me and said this:
"The TC has determined the date for your Level 3 admission audition at the end of this term. You will be auditioning on Friday, February 24th from 4:00- 6:00pm in the Skybox Theatre. There is no alternative audition date."
The booming e-voice of fate. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a big, big day.
For those of you not inclined toward basic math, 4:00 pm is in about 3 hours. At that time, I will file into a theater on North Wells Street with 60 to 80 other adults. I will perform one, two-minute three-person improvised scene and take part in a five-minute improvised montage. Based on my performance during these tasks, I will or will not be offered the opportunity to pay $1200 more of my savings and 120+ more hours of my ever-shrinking life in exchange for these words on my resume:
"is a graduate of the Second City Training Center."
This is exactly what I've been waiting for: the chance to be both busier and poorer in exchange for more meaningless accolades.* I'm so amped about what this exciting new future may hold that I'm already practicing living in it. I turned down $100 worth of work to accommodate the opportunity to be at Second City this afternoon. And if they like me . . . if they really, really like me . . . maybe I'll get to do that every day of my life.
Oh, boy. Oh, boy. Oh, boy. I hope they like my 3 minutes of stage time. I really, really do. My whole present may just hinge on this moment.
* I wonder where I put that college diploma . . .