Working in this studio, especially for Mr. Daniels, is chaos. Nothing ever on time, plans change last minute and then suddenly, you’re half asleep with a flat tire at six in the morning after being told five minutes before hand “hey intern, we’re setting up at the community center for televised fluffy auditions, get here now.” Fuck you Daniels. I don’t have a spare so I had to take the bus, and immediately I’m reminded why I bought a car. Public transportation is a god damned nightmare. There’s an old man in a bathrobe, drunks, hungover teenagers, hungover adults, cranky children, and no shortage of sights and sounds that make me envy Hellen Keller. I get to the community center ten minutes late, but hey, what does it matter, I’m just the fucking intern. Daniels isn’t here yet so that’s a relief. I walk in and hang up my coat, heading towards the back where they’re setting up.
“I swear to god Mr. Daniels doesn’t know my name,” I say to one of the boom operators as I help set up the audition room. “He calls me intern, kid, carrot top, hell he called me April O’Neil the other day when I was moving a microphone but he’s never said my name.”
“Uh…” the boom operator looks at his shoes, “what’s your name again?”
“For fucks sake, you too?”
He doesn’t respond. I’m over it.
Daniels comes in late, like always, smelling like cheap whiskey, and cigarettes. If you could bottle that fragrance and sell it the only name for it would be “Desperation.” One hour till we start shooting, he puts me on hall cop duties, make sure the contestants know where to go, make sure there’s no fluffy shit on the floor, kick out unruly ones and “I don’t know, do your thing kid.” It’s always kid, or intern. He calls me intern one more fucking time he’s getting a stiletto to the groin.
The first audition is an adorable but pudgy blue fluffy, Brandon he said it was. I lead him into the audition room, set him on the stage and sit in the corner to watch. He’s adorable, so excited to perform for Daniels, wants to prove himself. It’s hard not to see myself in him, after all Daniels is the gatekeeper for us both, if he says no, it’s over. If he says yes, we’re in. But unlike Brandon, I don’t get a straight yes or no answer, I get to work for free for however long they decide I’m useful and then, only then, after an undetermined amount of time do I get an an- oh. Oh fuck. Brandon broke his leg. Fuck.
“Alright Lucy, keep it together,” I mumble to myself as I step out to find Brandon’s owner, she’s a kind looking woman, probably mid to late thirties, treats Brandon like her child. So soon I get to feel all that maternal rage directed squarely at me. Better get her straight to Daniels. He’s a prick, he deserves it.
“Excuse me ma’am, are you Brandon’s owner?”
“Yes, why?” She looks concerned, fuck. Keep it together Lucy, you can do this…
“Uh… Ma’am, I’m afraid Brandon broke his leg doing his dance number.” Brace for impact. But nothing happens. She doesn’t say a word, just takes off running. And…
“I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth! How could you let my baby boy get hurt!”
Yep, dodged a bullet. I feel bad, I really do, but I doubt that’ll be the last fluffy injury today, and given our janky setup, I suspect it’ll be among the lesser injuries of the day.
“Intern!” I hear him yelling from the audition room. Keep it together Lucy, you can do this. I sigh. He tellls me to clean the blood off the stage, an easy enough task, there’s not much.
The next audition is possibly the cutest fluffy I’ve ever seen, a chubby little guy named Martin. He’s super sweet, he’s got manners, and impressive command over the English language for a fluffy. I take little Martin to the stage and can’t help but smile as he sings. It’s by no means good, but he’s charismatic and it’s adorable. Daniels was left speechless, as was I. We locked eyes, I couldn’t say a word. Eventually he broke the silence, little Martin was in. He ran around like a lunatic, hugged Daniels, hugged me too, and took off to tell his daddy. Adorable. Daniels and I followed, him to talk to Martins owner and me to talk to the next contestant. But that didn’t happen.
“She’ll take good care of him when we’re not filming. I think.” He said, turning around to face me. “You’ll watch the little ‘actors’ eh?” It’s a mother fucking miracle, he’s asking instead of ordering. I don’t know what to say.
“I… uh…”
“It comes with a salary,” he says. I take a step forward
“I’ll be the best damned fluffy babysitter you ever met,” I shake Martin’s owners hand.
And just like that, I’m in.