My Modelling Experience

Scrolling through Gumtree, I stumbled on the perfect job listing: £300 for a day's work as an extra in a locally-filmed Bollywood movie. The next day, I received an e-mail with the location for the casting call, a swanky building near Bank Station.

...

While I waited in the lobby amongst a sea of Vogue and Hello magazines, the receptionist answered the phone, he spoke in a hushed tone.

"Mr. Gill, they'll see you now."

I rode the lift to the third floor, seated in the office, was the casting agent, a raven-haired Indian woman in a snazzy suit. She had striking brown eyes that said: "I'm legit."

"Have a seat, Mr. Gill," she said alluringly. "Now. Have you ever done any professional modeling?"

Err..nope. She proceeded to ask me questions that seemed like they were designed for a 19-year-old aspiring cover girl. Before she could ask if I'm a Gucci type of gal, I interjected.

"Hey, um...I thought this interview was for extras work, so are these kinds of questions...necessary?"

She flung her hair back and softly dropped her pen. "Okay, Mr. Gill. Before we can consider you for extras work, you would have to first be accepted into our agency."

Oh, okay then.

"All we need are a portfolio of pictures."

Oh, crap.

But not to worry, because they had a studio in the same building. "Just go down the hall, and we'll snap a few photos," directed the agent. I went and got prepared.

"No, that's not a pose." said the agent sternly. Apparently, standing upwards is not a pose. I leaned back against a vague city backdrop with my knee resting against the wall. "That's fine. I just need another nineteen or so more poses."

NINETEEN?!

"Be creative," she insisted. Well, I do have a degree in Creative Writing. I shifted my other foot against the wall. "NO!" she shouted. "You've just changed sides. Come on, be creative!" I put my hand on my hip. "What are you doing?! You look like a girl!"

Considering I had never modeled in my life, her attitude was unnecessarily harsh. How would've she liked it if I yelled at her for not knowing that pressing RB brings out the power wheel in Mass Effect.

After what seemed like a lifetime but was probably a minute, the agent grew weary of my inability to channel my inner Tyra and cut short the photoshoot. She ushered me outside. "We will e-mail you your photos and inform you of the result very soon."

On the bus back, while I was lamenting the end of my runway dreams, I got an e-mail from the agency. I had passed the audition. I immediately forwarded the message to my main e-mail account. Seconds later, I got an e-mail with the pictures. I sent that mail straight to 'Deleted'.