So, I'm an actor now.

Yup. My meteoric rise to stardom happened over the weekend. Frankly, it was long overdue. I’ve been sitting in my room in Los Angeles for two years now, waiting patiently to be discovered. I thought it would be for my incredible whistling ability (true story!), but it turns out I had to answer a craigslist ad first.

I was doing my daily criagslist job search, which has never yielded me any actual jobs, but it’s quick and easy so I do it anyway. The closest I got to a paying job was, I think, getting scammed by BetSoft gaming. (I wrote them a script for a video game and they never paid me. I wanted to sue, but they’re a Canadian-based company, and dealing with international law sounded a little intense. It wasn’t that much money, so I let it go. Fortunately, I can have my petty revenge by mentioning them on this site. Mwahaha!)

Ahem. Anyway. I answered an ad from a casting company looking for extras. The fact was, I’d been living in LA for about two years, and I hadn’t once tried to be an actor. It was ridiculous.

So I called the number, made the appointment, and was kind of surprised when I realized I was going to go through with it. Because in all honesty, I’m not a huge fan of the camera. I’ve been on stage before, and I’ve even been on film. I was “Gannon Acolyte #4” in a web series once—or at least, my hand was, as it was the only part of my body that wasn’t completely covered by a brown robe. It was a nerve-wracking experience. (See picture below. I'm the hand in the top-right.)

I convinced myself thuswise: Extras, known as “background actors” when they’re trying and failing to be taken seriously, typically work in the background. I could sit in a café chair for a few hours while the real actors do their stuff in the foreground. No problem. All I’d need to do is look the part.

So, imagine my surprise when we auditionees were handed monologues to read. Oh-em-gee, I thought.

I debated running out of the office and forgetting the entire thing. I quickly thought through dramatic escape options, such as falling to the ground and faking vague stomach pain, or yelling “fire!” and running out. (Of course, to avoid the illegality of yelling “fire” in a public place, I’d need to start one first.)

But before I could put any of these fine plans into action, I’d already signed the sign-in sheet, and by then it seemed too late.

But all in all, it was actually a very easy process. I went in, I said hi, I read the little monologue, trying to emote as much as possible as improvise as little as possible. (“I thought doing it as a space alien really sold my character’s fear of relationships.”)

They gave me a number to call the next morning—which I did. Apparently, I did well. So well, in fact, that they think I could potentially handle a few speaking roles. (I’d be the guy who bumps into Nicholas Cage and mutters “excuse me,” or something.)

My feeling, however, is this: Any place that tells me I’m an actor is probably a scam. I’m doing my research on their organization as much as I can, but I haven’t been able to find very many red flags.

So, I might be getting headshots later today. Best case scenario, I get work as an extra. Worse case scenario, I get some really awesome facebook profile pictures. I guess it's a win-win.

I’ll keep you posted.