The Audition Call

The sun was setting on Tokyo. I had already trekked to two agencies that day, but telephoned Flamingo to arrange a future registration time. Mike picked up. “Sure, I could come in now,” I responded, startled by the offer. “Meet at exit A3 of Kachidoki station? No problem, see you in 20 minutes!”

Mike hails from Macau. “Crazy place!” I told him, speaking from experience. He was a cool guy, and treated me like nakayoshi, or buddy-buddy. He had just received word that Canon needed a young businessman for a promotional video – did I have a suit? The dates fit my schedule, and Mike said he’d call with further details. He never did.

Four days later, another agency contacted me for the same audition. I accepted the invitation as well as one to attend a Dartmouth alumni barbecue at the American embassy housing complex earlier that day.

For a few hours, I was transported back to the States. The complex included benches, grass, grills, and a pool. A passing Ford Explorer almost moved me to tears. I sank my teeth into 100% American beef, which Japan embargoes over mad cow concerns. Only connections with the military base could secure such a treat. I garnished the burger with Heinz ketchup, mustard, and relish. Condiments, oh how I’ve missed you, I thought as I raced home to suit up for Canon.

I got off on the wrong foot by arriving eight minutes late to the audition meeting point. Who knew that Exit 1 at Roppongi station was only accessible from the Hibya line (I had arrived on the Oedo line)? Kai, the agency representative, and I dashed off to the audition already in progress. I felt like the bumbling newbie, arriving tardy in a suit soaked with sweat. The others had changed on location. Competition numbered about 10, but most were veterans. Patrick, 34, carried an impressive book of his printed accomplishments. I overheard him boast to Kai that he’d been in Japan for seven years and had some special relationship with Canon. Had I known, I wouldn’t have traded relish for certain rejection.

I was the last have an audience with the Canon panel. Kai accompanied me into the conference room. Videotape recorded my 30-second introduction, during which I casually mentioned my camera of choice, Canon’s Powershot S50. I then did a few stiff catwalks.

The final test was to sit in a chair, pretend to write notes, and then look up to announce, “I’ve got an idea!” Easy enough, but Kai told me to relax more. I tried to crack a smile, but my lips were parched. I was also battling a dry hacking cough.

Take two. Sliding into the chair, I felt my lungs squish. I had to clear my throat, or I’d sound like I had a tracheotomy. Cameras were rolling – I couldn’t hack up a lung. With no choice but to speak, I croaked, “I’ve got an idea.” The staff recoiled. I felt like a figure skater landing on his ass. There was nowhere to hide.

The rejection call two days later lasted 20 seconds. Kai said that I had done my best. But what I didn’t expect was a second rejection call, from Mike at Flamingo. I was speechless. At the time, I was registering at Free Wave, trading culture shock stories with Arata, who spent a year attending a Kentucky high school. Oh, the mess I would have created if selected. Both agencies would have duked it out over commission entitlement, but agree upon blacklisting me for violating modeling’s golden rule, double booking. Relief circulated through my now clear lungs. I await the next audition call.