"Pretty, but fussy-looking," said the client rep.
"I think fussy is a good thing when you're trying to sell a kitchen cleaning product," said the casting director. "I think she's good."
I wondered if t hat meant I had the job. TV commercial people are so insincere that you never know if you have the job even if they say so right in front of you. And this could be a good job. Just a few days of sponging off countertops would bring enough residuals to take me through months and months of auditions I might not pass.
"I like the blonde thing," said the casting director. "If you've got a gold label cleaner, with a lemon scent, I think blonde just cements that it people's minds."
"But I think blonde me ans she COMPETES with the product," said the director.
"I don't think so," said the client rep. "I think that if people are reminded of yellow things, that'll stick with them when they get to the supermarket."
They started whispering.
"We like you, " said the casting director. "What's your name, again?"
"Olive Hurst," I said. "5'4, 120 pounds, blonde, brown. Olive Hurst."
I got the sense I was going to get this job, and started to get that creepy feeling, the feeling where I wanted to insult them, that feeling where I wonder what can I say to get thrown out of the room.
"Oh, yeah. Here you are," said the casting director. She was holding up my photo composite, shots of me eating a sandwich, me cuddling a baby, me holding an umbrella.
" We'll call you," said the casting man, and he sounded as if he really might.
"I still think she's too fussy," the director said as I left.