Mirror Mirror On The Agent’s Wall

So after a mass mailing of about eighty of my headshots to eighty different agents, I finally got a meeting on Wilshire Blvd. I was feeling…damn good. The building was impressive, my monologue was prepared, I was new in LA, and this was my moment to shine.

When I walked into The Agent’s office, the first thing I was struck by were the mirrors: we’re talking floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall. From The Agent’s last name I was expecting someone of Asian decent, but this guy was British - and once he began speaking I was quick to realize, he also had a lisp. I tried to catch his eye so I could smile and introduce myself, but that proved impossible since he never once took his eyes off his own reflection…even as he shook my hand and invited me to sit down on the couch.

The Agent poured me a glass of champagne, refilled his own, and began to impart his dubious wisdom: explaining to me the impossibility of getting a SAG card without an agent, saying how hard it was to even get an agent if you didn’t have blonde hair and big tits. He found himself riveting. His eyes staring squarely into his own.

Once he was finished with his monologue, I performed mine (a piece from the Vagina Monologues) with gusto and conviction! And as my voice broke for a tear-filled finish, I looked up and saw that The Agent was aligning his toupee with the help of the mirrors on the north and south walls.

I sat back down on the couch and The Agent told me my monologue needed some work. He knelt before me and put his hand on my knee. “Everybody needs…friends in Hollywood. Now why don’t you see my secretary and if you like, she’ll set you up next week for a 6:00 appointment, my last appointment of the day.” He winked at himself.

As I was ushered out of the room, I saw the receptionist packing up and a girl who looked like me except with blonder hair and bigger boobs sitting on the couch. I checked my watch. It was 6:00.