The Doorman

By WICF Performer Kathleen Campbell


Tonight I had an audition. The first one in over a year. For a Disney show. It came in late the night before and I canceled my catering gig to do it. I had a long day to think about it and do a million other things.

About two hours before, I started obsessively cleaning out my purse. Where is that important piece of paper? Aha! In a pile on the dining room table. I cleared out all the clutter and empty gum wrappers. Put my change in my change purse. Got rid of the expired coupons. Where are the square glass earrings? Last I remember,  I set them on the side of the tub. Did they go down the drain? I hope not. Pulled out five of the six pens I had and then put one back, just in case. All the while, saying the lines that came out of my mouth like pretentious lead balloons. I kept doing it till it sounded like me talking. Why does that happen, I wonder?

Did I have a picture and resume? Found one. Stapled it and cut the edges. Had some calming tea. Put some product in my hair. Combed it out. Put more product in my hair. I know, a barrette. Found the chain for my granny glasses. They fit the character and if I need to read something they'll come in handy. Makeup. Wipe off the extra. Try to remain calm. 

Okay, it's almost time to go. I think I know my lines. Last trip to the bathroom. Steal some of Michaela's eye shadow. Not sanitary, I know. Out the door. No Dusty you can't come. I pushed her away with my purse. Sneak out the door and I'm off. Ken is going to pick up Richard. Don't ask him if he's seen the earrings. It's not important.

First, I sit in the car and put on the mascara I remembered I left in the crack of the seat. This is the rental Chrysler that I've been driving since I got rear ended by the kid texting in a Mercedes two weeks ago. Checked my lines a few times. I'm early. I head out. I pass my daughter and her friend walking down the street. Should I honk?  Should I call her? No, concentrate. I try to relax my whip-lashed neck muscles and press the acupuncture point on my hand. It helps some. Just as I exit the highway, I think about something in my purse and look for it. Not there. Where is it? My purse is not there. I left it at home. In the bathroom. No money. No ID. Do I go back? I can't, I'll be late. I trust that somehow I will find a meter with some time on it on a Friday night at Hollywood and Vine.

Damn, like I wasn't nervous enough. Not that I need this job, but I NEED THIS JOB! We have bills and no money and I have just enough gas to get there and back. I drove through traffic, cursing my stupidity. I remembered from years back that there was a street by the Pantages that had meters that stopped at 6. I found a spot.  A free spot. I walked to my audition past homeless people with carts and people out for a night on the town. I pass the Pantages. I pass the bar looking for an address and then I see the number. I read the buzzer and thought about how I should have brought a warmer sweater and was about to press it when a smiling doorman opened the door for me and said,

"Here for casting?"

"Yes, I am." 

"Come right in."

I walked into the old timey lobby with a checkerboard floor and leather couches somewhat flustered and confused. I have so few auditions that half the battle is not too let my heart thump into my ears and my stomach rise up into my throat. The nice man who was wearing a doorman's cap sensed this and walked me a few steps to the book to sign in. I'm thinking, he's going to ask to see my ID and I don't have it. 

"Put your name there, what time is it? 6:50 " he says. I am paused. He writes it for me. "Suite 505." He points. I write. "And sign right there." 

I didn't think to put on the granny glasses that would have helped me. 

"No one else signed it." 

"You sign it and lead the way. They'll all follow you." He smiled the nicest smile ever. Then he walked me a few more steps to the elevator door, and said, "Suite 505. The door will be open." He pressed the elevator button for me. "By the way, I love your backpack. It's so colorful. Goes with everything." I had thrown on the multi-hued checkered Yaki Sak backpack I keep in the car so I wouldn't be obviously lacking a purse. I look about 12. I smiled. It's a Disney show. Whatever.

From then on, I was fine. The doorman had made me feel so at home. I waited. I saw people I knew. I knew almost every lady on the list up for the same part; character, comedy, improv ladies, 40-50. I thought about how much better they'd be than me. My son called and I whispered that I left my purse in my best Library voice like the sign told me to by the sign in sheet. 

"I am at an audition so I have to be quiet. I left my purse at home but I found a parking spot. I'm okay." 

The backpack that goes with everything.

"I love you, Mom."  

"Love you, too."

I auditioned and was not very nervous. I walked out and down the elevator. When I reached the lobby, although there were other people coming and going, he was waiting for me.

"How'd it go?" He asked, searching my face for clues.

"It went good!" He smiled that smile.

"I knew it would, I had a feeling. You have a beautiful face. You have a good evening now. " He ushered me back out into the cold windy night onto Hollywood Blvd.

"I will. You too!" I said, not able to find words better than that. 

I walked to my car with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. What a lovely person. I didn't even care if I got the part or not. It was a good experience. I'm going to be nicer to people from now on because it really changed my day what this man did for me. Even when the no-gas light went on a block before I got home, I just figured, it figures. There's nothing I can do now. I did my best and I'm beautiful. A stranger told me so.

"The Doorman" is currently featured under stories that moved the editors of Divine Caroline. 

Kathleen Campbell is an actress, improviser, poet and writer. She grew up in Wayland, MA and graduated from Syracuse University with a BFA in Acting. She's toured with The Second City in Chicago and improvises in L.A. with THE ALL GIRL REVUE. She's a member of SAG, AFTRA and AEA. She has published poetry in Creative Humans Magazine and short stories in Divine Caroline. She lives in Glendale, CA with her family that she loves.

Kathleen will be performing at WICF 2012 with All Girl Revue on two nights of the festival:
All Girl Revue, Jon and Eddie Show, Somebody's in the Doghouse - Friday, March 23, 2012, 8:00 pm at ImprovBoston (mainstage)
Improv Showcase with All Girl Revue, The Law Firm, and The Windy Pendejos - Saturday, March 24, 2012, 9:00 pm at ImprovBoston (studio)

My Trouble With Tina

By WICF Contributor Meghan O'Keefe

Little, Brown & Co.

I’m beginning to get very worried about reading Tina Fey’s Bossypants.

The more and more I hear about Tina Fey’s personal opinions about feminism and comedy writing, the more I get weird knots in my stomach. As I get older, I’m finding myself disagreeing more and more with her and as someone who’s primary comedic (and life) influence is Tina Fey, that’s slightly worrying.

Let me back up. I should start by saying that Tina Fey literally changed my life. Before Tina Fey was on Weekend Update, I had a very specific understanding of what a nerdy, quiet brunette who wore glasses and wrote for her high school newspaper could accomplish in life. I was a good girl. I was a smart girl. I was probably going to be a journalist, teacher or book editor. It would be a good life, but one that was based upon honoring rules to a fault. Because I’m a good girl, breaking rules scares me. Order provides security and security provides happiness. When Tina Fey shot to national recognition as the first female head writer of “Saturday Night Live” and co-anchor of Weekend Update, it was as though a huge door had opened for me in my life. A smart girl who loved playing by the rules could bend those rules if she was smart, hard-working and funny. I had had a breakthrough moment like that before. When I was young, I saw Jennifer Saunders ride an airport luggage conveyor belt in an episode of “Absolutely Fabulous.” Something clicked back then in my head: You could break the rules if you were doing it for a laugh. I was a geeky girl in Delaware, though. I couldn’t look at the foreign and fabulous Saunders and see myself in her. But when I read an article about Tina Fey and discovered that she grew up less than a thirty-minute drive away from me and was editor of her high school newspaper as well, I finally felt a kinship with a female comedian. It wasn’t crazy for me to want to be funny; it was natural. I started writing comedy and performing improv. By expressing myself through those art forms, I finally found an inner confidence I’d always lacked and forged friendships with true kindred spirits. Every happiness I have now in life I owe in some respect to comedy, and I owe comedy to Tina Fey.

Meghan, once she became
comfortable as a comedian.

The danger with having one person inspire you to pursue a craft is that you tend to think they are the end-all be-all when it comes to how to approach that art form. In high school, I tried to write poetry like Emily Dickinson and short stories like Katherine Mansfield. I still find myself approaching satire with a Fey-like bite. Somehow, I was lucky enough to know early on I could never be exactly like Tina Fey. She had stated several times that she felt safer and more confident in glasses; I feel more self-assured wearing contacts. That sounds like a really dumb and superficial difference, but it created a crack between how I saw myself and how I saw myself relating to Fey. I knew I would never, ever be exactly like her. I still look at my sketch writing and notice it might be hindered by trying to evoke Fey’s sharpness too much. My sense of humor is deeply rooted in the same mesh of silly and smart that she brings every week to “30 Rock.” However, my voice as a stand up and my opinions as a woman seem very different from Fey.

Maybe the reason I’m worried about what her opinions on feminism and comedy writing are is because she is undoubtedly one of the few women whose opinions on those subjects are widely respected. Fey currently stands as the most successful and, at least, most visible, female comedy writer in America. Her opinion does matter, and because there isn’t another woman who’s obtained her level of notoriety to enter the argument, that opinion becomes fact. Everyone defers to her because, frankly, there’s no one else to defer to. So when, as a young woman and aspiring comedy writer, I find myself disagreeing with a lot of her opinions on womanhood and comedy writing, it puts me on uncomfortable ground. If someone who’s older and wiser has certain opinions on subjects based on life experience, then I, as a neophyte, should certainly defer to them. Right?

Meghan O'Keefe!

Wrong. If Tina Fey has taught me anything, it’s that it’s important to have faith that your point of view as a female comedy writer is important because it’s different from a man’s. Going further, it’s even more important if my point of view as a female comedy writer is different from other female comedy writers, because that means that the diversity of female voices in comedy is equal to the diversity of male voices in comedy. You can’t tell me that Larry David and Adam McKay and Louis CK and Dave Chappelle all approach humor with the same perspective. If they did, comedy would be incredibly boring. The best comedians respect other as writers and performers. They try to learn from each other, but they stay true to what makes them unique. Likewise, female writers should strive to learn from Fey’s example, but also work to step out of her shadow. The biggest thing I’ve learned from Fey’s career is that you need to approach your comedy writing with discipline and intelligence. Unlike Fey, I think sharks and robots are really funny and slut-shaming is kind of in poor taste.

Tina Fey will never stop influencing my work. Even last week, three of the four articles I had published online* referenced Fey in some capacity. As role models go, she’s pretty amazing. So far, she has managed to balance life as a wife and mother while pioneering a new role for women in comedy. I’m really lucky to have someone like her to look up to, but that looking up to someone doesn’t mean that we always have to see eye-to-eye.

Oh, and I’m still probably going to read Bossypants and obsess over it.

*I wrote a review of "30 Rock," an essay about Mean Girls (and Clueless), and Fey came up in an interview I did with Jessi Klein.


Reblogged with permission from Meghan's Tumblr, "Meghan is Okay. Just Okay. It's Cool." Meghan O'Keefe is a comedian in NYC.