Casting Couch
The day I found myself sitting on a casting couch for a Reality TV dating show, I thanked Meryl I was not alone. Sandwiched between two other singletons on a quest for love and/or fifteen minutes of fame, I could not help but wonder, “how did I end up here?”
Unlike the casting couches featured in numerous independent film productions and backroom scandals, the cushions on this sofa were plush. Flipping through the 25-page contract for “Last Chance for Romance: Canada,” my eyes strayed from the black and white legalese to the technicolour profiles of my sofa mates.
To my right, propped a woman in her early twenties styled bubble-gum pink in Juicy Couture. Bedazzled from ball cap to platform heel, her personal interests included Snapchat and Earl’s. To my left, a man in his late fifties struck a much duller chord. Suited from the waist down with pleated beige pants, he looked as if he was on his lunch break from a lifetime of monotony. Around his neck, a worn-out tie dangled from a white-collar with a yellow tinge.
I provide you with these detailed images seeing as how we were instructed to arrive to the audition dressed in our “best” first date attire.
What was I wearing? I am so happy you asked.
Dressed in two of my signature colours, burnt caramel brown and cerulean blue, I looked like the clearance rack at Club Monaco. Fitted over my shoulders, a corduroy blazer opened to a chambray dress shirt. With the top button undone, a skinny Penguin tie pointed an arrow down to a relaxed pair of butterscotch khakis. Bookending the trousers from top to bottom, a leather belt was the perfect companion to a pair of Todd’s.
Sitting there, I tried to remember the last time I had gone on a blind date. Or any kind of date for that matter. It had been three years since a failed relationship paired with a quarter-life crisis, thrust me into a 70-hour work week managing The Meatball Hut. If I could not find success in my personal life, then surely, I could find it professionally, I reasoned. This thought danced across my mind like a go-go dancer on Shower Power Thursdays, until it slipped and broke its ankle.
“This thought danced across my mind like a go-go dancer on Shower Power Thursdays, until it slipped and broke its ankle.”
You can imagine my interest then when an email arrived promising me a way out. “Are you a balding, alcoholic restaurant manager in search of love?” the subject line read. “Yes,” I answered, double-clicking hook, line, and sinker. Wading through the body of text, I felt as if my prayers had been answered. “If you are exhausted of eating cold chicken parmesan every night before hailing a cab home alone, then wait no further, your time has arrived.”
Before I knew it, I was filling out applications forms with the private details of my love life. Describe the perfect date: Red wine. How long was your last relationship? Ten minutes. Who is your ideal mate? Someone who shows up for the date. And, with a single click of the ‘submit’ button, there I was.
“Rugged Fox,” called a voice from behind a curtain. My turn was up! While it was true, I had auditioned for several roles in my life, this was the first time I ever tried out to play myself.
