Free I'll Be Here All Week by Anderson Ward

right here they want late twenties to mid-thirties. Comedic types preferred. That’s you, asshole. Is it not?”
    Spence looks at the call sheet. It is, indeed, him. The audition is actually calling for wacky, comedic men just like him. Even better, it pays five thousand dollars.
    He sighs. “It’s in two hours?”
    â€œI’ll make the call,” Rodney says.
    â€œAlright, I’ll head over there.”
    â€œSweet,” Rodney says. “This will be perfect. You were the first person that popped into my head, too. How perfect is it that you were already here? That’s fate, man.”
    â€œI haven’t even gotten the part,” Spence says. “Calm down.”
    â€œWell, you’re gonna get the part,” Rodney says. “This is you, baby.”
    Â 
    Spence is on the subway before he even realizes that he meant to talk to Rodney about getting him better gigs at better venues. Of course, he knows that landing this audition will get Rodney to pay more attention to him. He also knows that landing a national TV commercial can up his pay on the road. A guy on a soap opera makes a fortune. A guy in a toothpaste commercial can make pretty good cash, too.
    What any of that has to do with actual stand-up comedy is anyone’s guess, but that’s how it works. The more credits a comic has, the more money he can make, even if the credit has nothing to do with stand-up comedy. Some guy from Omaha that used to open for him went from being an MC to being a high-paid headliner simply because he was “The ‘Okie Dokie’ Guy” in a series of commercials for Miller Lite. A few silly beer ads, and the kid was pulling in six figures at A-list comedy clubs. He didn’t even have an hour’s worth of material, and he was closing shows and raking in serious coin.
    If only I’d been a black forty-year-old, he thinks. I could’ve been the Sprite guy.
    After wandering around the same block for way too long, he arrives at the audition about five minutes early. Even if the audition is a bust, he’s not so annoyed being there. He loves being in the middle of the city. Too many months on the road in the middle of nowhere makes him miss the big buildings and having everything a walk away. It feels nice to not be in the car for a change and to actually get out and walk somewhere.
    The last time he was this close to Broadway was when Rodney sent him to some musical audition. Rodney told him it was for some new southern musical and that he was perfect for the show. When he got there, he found out it was to play Huck Finn in a Broadway tour. He was thirtysomething years old at the time, and they were auditioning teens. Needless to say, he didn’t get the part. It was another brilliant move by Rodney.
    He walks into the room and straight to the receptionist at the casting agency. Like most receptionists in most casting agencies, she’s bored and barely looks at him when he says hello. She hands him a clipboard with the usual questionnaire attached to it asking all the usual questions. He fills out the audition waiver and hands it back to her, along with a copy of his résumé and a headshot. She tells him to wait around the corner with the other actors and then goes back to being bored.
    He steps into the waiting room and finds himself surrounded by eight guys who look almost exactly like him. He laughs. The poor guys each look like a smaller or taller version of each other. A few of them have their hair highlighted. It looks like an awkward family reunion.
    He sits down next to the guy who looks the least like him. The guy is reading Entertainment Weekly and picking mindlessly at the buckle on his boot. Watching the guy as he reads the magazine, Spence thinks to himself that they’re really nice boots. This only reminds him that he needs new shoes.
    â€œI suppose you’re wondering why I called you all here today,” he says to the group. A few