“I can’t remember if this is for soft, or hardcore porn? In either case, the audition is clothing optional, right?” I say as I slowly unbutton my dress shirt to the producers gasping and reaching their arms out, nervously motioning for me to stop.
Audition after audition and I wasn’t booking a thing. A struggling actor. Fucking eh, imagine that... I hear through a buddy of mine about an open casting call for The Bachelorette Canada to be one of the contestants. I jump at the opportunity to audition and for the typical reasons obviously:
Broke-ass actor - Brendan Fraser struggles to pay child support these days. I feel like I am in good company. Let’s try a different avenue.
Vanity - I am insecure and base my self-worth on likes and followers on social media. “Me. Me. Me. Love me. Shower me with kisses and love!”
15 minutes of fame - same as the aforementioned. ^
Comedic gold - c’mon folks, The Bachelor(ette) is a comedy!
Why else do people want to be on this show? Feel free to @ me with your truth on the subject. Honestly, you would be better off finding genuine love stranded on an island amongst a group of ravenous cannibal Islanders. This is the perfect opportunity to showcase my unhinged antics.
The day of the audition comes about, and I head down to the hotel in the East End where it is being cast. I walk inside and to the sign-in area. Right away, my nostrils get fuckin’ stung with Hawaiian Tropic and Drakkar Noir body spray. The amount of Gym, Tan, Laundry types that inhabit this island is both astounding and disturbing. C’mon my dudes, Jersey Shore is a bit dated at this stage.
I check-in and they hand me a form to fill out. I didn’t come here for homework. I came here to put on a show! Why do this without an audience of my friends, who know what I am doing and can make laugh? Because it is extremely fun, and I have no life.
I am looking for a place to sit and honestly, there are more douches than the personal care aisle at a Walmart, but I spot the one and only guy who is possibly there for the same reasons that I am. He looks like a character, so I sit beside him and strike up a conversation:
(Liam) “What’s up, man? Looks like we’re the only two dudes here that aren’t having a staring contest with ourselves in the reflection of our phone.”
(Guy) “No kidding man. Not to mention the testosterone levels. Fuck me. All these guys are looking like they want to kill me or bang me.”
(Liam) “Haha, bro. There ARE some handsome dudes in here though, I’d bang half of them and I’m straight. Look at that one dude! Give me a mallet, I’m gonna play the fucking xylophone on his abs.”
(Guy) “Haha, so why are you here, dude?”
(Liam) “I was told this was an open casting call for Furry Porn. I have some weird fetishes. What about you?”
(Guy) “That’s next door haha. I just wanna fuck with people in the house. Endless supply of material.”
This guy gets it. He wins at life.
After about half an hour, I get called up by one of the casting assistants and follow her down a hallway. Suddenly, it was real, and my nerves were sodomizing me. Fuck! Abort mission! Abort mission! I thought this would be hilarious and now I am a giant pussy.
Is it too late to back out? Too much pressure. My heart is pounding. I can’t breathe. I am light-headed.
We get to a small room and I am blinded by the bright lights that are only making things worse. I’m on fire and I can’t see a thing. It’s like I’m in an all-white, psychiatric hospital room that is slowly closing in on me. My eyes are being pried open and I’m strapped to the ground staring at the ceiling. The ceiling is opening, and the sun is getting closer and closer to me. I’m on fire.
I hear the host before I see her, and she snaps me out of it. (Host) “Hi, Liam!”
We’re on the first floor and behind her is a window that I can easily climb out of. Shit, I need to make a dash for it.
“Please, sit down. I’m going to be asking you a series of questions and we’ll get rolling in a minute here. Sound good?” She says.
I sit down and see the cameraman directly behind her. Is he laughing?
(Liam) “Sounds good! I’m just here for the food stamps.” The fuck am I saying?
The interview starts: (Host) “So, why are you here today?”
(Liam) “Well, my dad just wanted me off the couch and out of the house and he said there was an open call for The Bachelorette. I am clearly an incredibly eligible bachelor.” Dude, dad is 3000 miles away.
Humor is my immediate defense mechanism when I am nervous and I try way too hard.
The host asks me a few more questions:
“Where are you from?”
“What are you looking for?”
“What do you do for work?”
Standard questions like this and I was there for about 10 minutes, visibly nervous and trembling as I answer every question with some sort of joke.
(Host) “What special skills do you possess that no other bachelor here possesses?” What the fuck kind of question is that? Who am I, Liam Neeson?!
These are a few of my answers:
“Read. I can almost guarantee most of the guys in that waiting room area do not possess that skill.”
“Sharpen knives with my tongue.”
“Open beer bottles with various body parts.”
“Speak fluent Drunk.”
*Blank stares*
“DOC, WE LOST THE PULSE. HURRY, WE ARE LOSING THEM. WE NEED A COMEDIC DEFIBRILLATOR, STAT!”
The rolling camera isn’t helping my situation and I am sweating like a Hebrew missionary in a sex shop for the first time. I need to get them back to me. NOW! But I got nothing. I am racking my brain for skills I possess, but all I hear is a tumbleweed bouncing off the walls of my hollow brain. That is when I realize for the first time in my adult life that I am not good at anything. Fuck me, man.
Hmmm. I do voices. Are voices even a skill? 95% of the world can talk, therefore, can do voices.
(Liam) “Okay, okay. I do voices.” I quickly spit out. I was like Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire, when he has the meeting with his court liaison, and she asks him if he has any special skills and that is his answer. “I do a great impression of a hotdog.”
Man, I have never felt so utterly useless in my life. If there were a short pier, I would strip down and take a long walk off it.
(Host) “Perfect. Can you do some *ahem* voices?”
I am firing off various voices one after another like I am having an epileptic seizure. I have the Host and cameraman laughing and finally start getting more comfortable.
(Cameraman) “Can you do Walken?!”
(Liam) “Haha, no man. I am not even gonna attempt it.”
(Cameraman) “Everyone does Walken!”
(Liam) “Just because everyone recycles used condoms so the sea turtles don’t choke on them, doesn’t mean I do...I am joking, I don’t use condoms.” (I didn’t actually say that last quote.)
The interview ends and the Host says she will be back in five minutes. The cameraman is super cool and we’re chatting away as we’re waiting for her return.
(Liam) “Dude, off the record. How many fucking cocky, douchebags do you have to deal with? I may be cocky and kind of a douche, but at least I am honest.”
(Cameraman) “Haha well, they’re not all bad, but there are a few bad ones out there. We’re casting all throughout Canada, too.”
The Host comes back and tells me to wait in the waiting area. I will be called into another room shortly.
I head back to the waiting area and my buddy is gone, but I start chatting with a guy working the event as an organizer and a couple of girls who worked at the hotel. He is a funny dude and a filmmaker. I start roasting the other guys in the waiting area again, mostly out of jealousy and because I am wildly insecure.
(Liam) “Dude. Thanks to this place, I no longer have any faith in humanity going forward. If these dudes procreate, I’m moving to Chernobyl.”
(Filmmaker) “How embarrassing is this!? Some of these dudes are morons. Why are you here?”
(Liam) “I fall under that category, as I am a fucking moron. But I just wanted to check it out and thought it would be fun.”
(Filmmaker) “I feel ya. Are you an actor?”
(Liam) “I act like an asshole. So yeah, you could say that.”
He mentions that he is casting a short film in a few days and wanted me to audition for it. The role was a Lucha Libre wrestler. Which is professional wrestling in Mexico. I sent in a self-tape a few days later, but ultimately didn’t book it, partially due to the fact that I am white as bird shit. It was incredibly fun, nonetheless.
I get called in by another casting assistant and the fun is over again. We head to the elevator.
Fuck, I’m all talk...
I feel guilty for making fun of these other dudes. They are all WAY more of a man than I will ever be. I am no man.
These guys are brave and deserve credit and my respect.
My respect means nothing. I am nothing.
The elevator doors open and we walk in. I am claustrophobic and one of my biggest fears is getting stuck in an elevator, but I want nothing more than to have this elevator conk out on us right now. LORD, PLEASE ALLOW THIS ELEVATOR TO BREAK DOWN!
Here’s the thing, I am the most confidently insecure guy you will ever meet. I am that guy in the bar who will pick up the most attractive girl there. I’ll Play it cool for a while and have her hang on my every joke and charming word. Then I’ll get incredibly self-conscious, wonder what she sees in me, get clingy, insecure and have her leave me. Ultimately fucking it up before I have a chance to really seal anything.
*DING*
The elevator door opens. CLOSE THE DOOR AND PRESS ‘G!’ I WANNA BE AT HOME WHERE IT IS SAFE. HIDING UNDER A BLANKET AND WATCHING BOY MEETS WORLD RERUNS.
So, me and the assistant get to the front door and she knocks, “Come on in!” I hear a voice on the other side of the door yell. No! Tell us it’s an inconvenient time and you want us to leave!
We walk in and it’s a Honeymoon suite, fully equipped with a jacuzzi and the works. Sitting in front of the camera are two beautiful women, that I only assume are producers. I am so nervous that I can feel the sweat droplets pouring down my forehead, onto my nose and into my mouth that is drier than an unmarried Mormon’s vagina. I am so thirsty that I am swallowing my salty perspiration and clearing my throat aggressively. Before I give them a chance to introduce themselves, I say:
(Liam) “I can’t remember if this is soft, or hardcore porn. In either case, this audition is clothing optional, right? I am unbuttoning my dress shirt. The two girls are gasping and nervously motioning for me to stop. The one says, “Noooo.”
Like I mentioned before, when I get this nervous, I completely unconsciously make inappropriate jokes. This was completely unrehearsed, and I wasn’t trying to be funny at all. My compulsive, humour-nerves were in overdrive and once that engine is revved, it’s hard to turn it off. Filters? Lines? The only filters I have are for coffee. The only lines I am familiar with are cocaine. Anyone who knows me can vouch for this. Stop laughing!
(Producer #1) “Yikes! Hi, Liam, so, you’ve made it past the first round.” What is this playoff hockey?
(Producer #2) “So, similar to the first interview, we’re going to be asking you a series of questions. Cool?”
(Liam) “Yup. Cool.” Fuck me, am I thirsty. I am looking around. This room is like $2000 a night and this show has a budget of 3 million dollars. They can’t afford to supply me with a $3 bottle of water.
(Producer #1) “Oh, before we start. Can we offer you a bottle of water?”
(Liam) “Ummm, no, I’m okay. I’m not really thirsty.” YES, YOU ARE!
(Producer #1) “Are you sure?”
(Liam) “Umm, No, yeah, I’ll have one please.” Producer #1 hands me a bottle of water and I pretty much chug the entire thing. The interview starts.
The questions start off relatively the same as the first interview, until one of them asks, “so, what hardships have you gone through that maybe someone else hasn’t gone through?”
(Liam) “Well, one time my daddy cut off my credit card and I couldn’t afford to keep all three of my yachts that he bought me... I had to...
*Obnoxiously inhale*
*Pause for dramatic effect*
*Obnoxiously exhale*
...sell one of them. Can you believe it?”
Nothing. Not even a chuckle.
(Producer #2) “The reason we ask these questions, Liam, is to weed out the applicants that are doing this for the wrong reasons. We take this very seriously and only want serious applicants who are looking for love. Are you looking for love, Liam?”
*Game face*
(Liam) “Yes, ma'ms. Truth is, I have spent my adult years actively looking for love and to my bitter disappointment, have fallen short on many occasions. Lord knows I am trying my best though. I am honestly making a valiant effort to do better and am looking to be on this show strictly for the purpose of finding my forever number 1.” (Some such nonsense as this.)
I make myself sick. I am relaxed now though.
(Producer #2) “Great answer. What hardships have you suffered, Liam?”
*Game face*
I am looking past the producers. I am looking past the camera. I am looking past the hotel wall. I am slowly transporting back to my childhood.
(Liam) “I come from a broken home. My family was once a happy family until my mother found the bottle, then the pipe and began neglecting her parental duties, as well as her love for me. All before leaving my family for another man. I didn’t see her much after that.”
*Cue tears*
I shit you not, the floodgates open all around. My focus is impeccable. I am so in the zone that world-class chess master, Garry Kasparov, would give me a head nod of respect while he jots down notes.
I don’t fight the tears. They can’t fight the tears. I had each of them in my palms. It’s not that I was lying, because I wasn’t. It was all true, but I was reeeaaally selling it, and in a way, bullshitting my way through their hearts. Truth be told, I was feeling guilty. I could see they wanted to embrace me. I mean they were looking at me like they were witnessing their childhood dog being put down. The interview ends shortly after and I leave the hotel.
I thought I nailed it and honestly thought I had a great chance of getting on the show. Although I was fucking around, boy did I ever put on a helluva show. I receive an email about a week later:
(copy and pasted email)
bachelorette@goodhumanproductions.com
Mon, Feb 22, 2016, 6:29 PM
to bachelorette
Hello,
Thank you so much for your interest in The Bachelorette Canada. We have been reviewing candidates and thank you for your patience. At this time we will not be moving forward with your application, but will keep you on file should another opportunity arise. We really appreciate your time and energy and wish you all the best in the future.
Bachelorette Canada Casting Team
Firstly, I love how they refer to me as a “bachelorette.” Talk about personalized rejection letters...I know, I know. I’m technically a “Bachelorette Contestant.” I’m just nitpicking because I am bitter and don’t take rejection well.
Secondly, as good as my performance was, they saw through me like a glass of water and didn’t need someone like me on the show fucking it up.
There has got to be a tape of this out there somewhere and I would love to watch it and painfully cringe. Honestly, as much as I love entertaining other people, I equally love entertaining myself. Thank you, Bachelorette Canada. Maybe next year, eh?
Happy Trails, my friends!
-Liam Peters xxx-
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