Thespian

One has to have some pride. One has to protest undignified treatment. One must draw a line in the sand.
I have failed my own standards. I did not open my mouth and protest.
Oh, the humiliation. I accepted a small role as an Italian barber in a play for a local reading. Small is an understatement. Six lousy lines. I had to sit there during rehearsal for an hour and a half waiting for my next line to come up. I should have stormed out in rage. Would Philip Seymour Hoffman have tolerated this?
Yes, the director brought cookies and they were good cookies. But there was no coffee to keep me awake during this endless Irish play about a family and their bar and isn't that innovative? Harsh? I could have been doing so much more on a Friday night. Maybe even with a partner. Now I have to leave for a Sunday morning rehearsal when I could be exercise walking. And the performance kills my whole afternoon. I could have been up in Inwood Park watching American Indians dance at the Shad Festival.
To add to my discomfort, I have to be all in black today. Lucky someone gave me a black top. No way I'm spending money to buy one. They had better be coffee this afternoon. Then again, maybe some hot woman will show up and approach me afterward. I do look pretty good in black.