Featured in the 2023 Winter Issue of Rambunctious
By Anka Chiorini, ’23
I walk in. I trip on the carpet on the way in and break my nose. The director doesn’t notice. I sing
my song with blood pouring out of my nose.
Outcome: I don’t get cast because the casting director thought that “the whole blood thing was
I walk in only to realize I’m not wearing pants, the director is a centaur, and this is all a dream.
My audition is really good, and they decide to write a new role just for me.
Outcome: My dream performance has no impact on my actual audition, and I am cast in the
I walk in. The director is the ghost of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. While I sing my song, she bangs a
gavel and chews gum really loudly.
Outcome: I don’t get cast and start a mildly successful medium business where I communicate
with people’s dead relatives. It isn’t very successful because the only ghost I can communicate
with is RBG… but I make a lot of money from RBG’s relatives, so I guess that’s a plus?
I walk in. I sing my song. The director informs me that they’ll cast me in the lead role, but only if I
am willing to dye my hair platinum blonde.
Outcome: I get cast in a lead role, but I am now blonde. I wear a hat to school to cover my hair
and get suspended for violating the dress code. I am now ineligible for the musical and am
forced to drop out. They give my role to my arch-nemesis who does it much better than I ever
could and the director decides that the blonde hair was unnecessary.
I walk in and exchange pleasantries with the directors. They stop me in the middle of my song.
“Isn’t this Anka Chiorini, the girl whose poem got rejected by her school’s literary
magazine?” one of them says.
“Yes, I believe so,” another replies.
I try to defend myself: “My piece wasn’t what they were looking for. They mostly publish
short stories, not satirical poetry. The other submissions were better anyway.” “Are you criticizing your school’s lit mag? The one your friend edits?”
“No, I didn’t… I… I…”
“Off with her head!” the directors begin to chant. The accompanist pulls a sheet off of her
piano to reveal a guillotine.
Outcome: I am sentenced to death by guillotine. I am beheaded in front of a mob of angry
French people. I do not get cast. Dead people cannot perform in musicals.
I walk in. The audition is a driving test and the administrator is my younger brother.
Outcome: I fail because I don’t understand right-of-way. Also, my brother tells me that I am
I walk in. While I am singing my song, I consider the lyrics and, for the first time, I realize that
they are incredibly racist.
Outcome: I do not get cast and am expelled from school. The kid I’ve seen in the hallway with a
“Real Americans Stand for the National Anthem” shirt high fives me and tries to give me a
MAGA hat so that we can match. I cry.
I walk in only to realize that my true calling is bricklaying. I rush out of the room and find a job in
Outcome: I work a fulfilling job as a bricklayer (I even join a guild). The pay is modest, but I like
to think that I get paid in terms of the friends I make on the job. I marry Harry Styles (turns out
he has a thing for bricklayers) and we have two beautiful children. However, none of this matters
because I do not get cast.
I walk in. While in the audition room, I get a phone call from the College Board. They tell me that
I got a perfect score on my AP World exam. They say that they would have called sooner, but
they’re too busy rewriting their APUSH exam to meet my standards. I thank them and hang up.
Outcome: I do not get cast, but I do play golf with David Coleman, CEO of the College Board,
every weekend. Twenty-two years later, David dies. In his will, he leaves me everything,
including the College Board. I am the new CEO. Initially, I intend to make the company more
ethical and dissolve its monopoly, but then I get my first paycheck for almost $700,000 and decide that ethics are overrated. I make it even harder for students to get into college. Netflix
makes a documentary about me and how corrupt I am. It gets great ratings and I get my own TV
show. I feel empty inside and decide to adopt a child. I name him David after my late mentor. He
auditions for his school’s musical and does not get cast.
I write a really long, rambling piece about the worst case scenarios for my audition and psych
myself out, effectively ruining my audition.
Outcome: I get cast in the ensemble.