My head is hung low as I drag my feet out of another acting audition, this time for a supposed blockbuster film in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It would be a big step up from my history of low-budget castings. Half of them ended up being weird, steamy romances that could pass for bad porn.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out quickly with hopeful anticipation that the casting director is texting me to say I got the part. Nope, it’s just my sister sending me cute animal videos and other nonsense. I swipe through the dozens of clips and stop when I see a post about some come-up actor named Luke Rivers. He was caught stumbling out of a dingy dive bar last night. I zoom in on his intoxicated face and notice something familiar in the background. Looking up from my phone, I see that same dive bar casting obnoxious, flickering lights in my eyes. The smells of cheap beer and chain-smoking draw me in, and before I know it, I am walking on creaky floorboards coated with spilled drinks. I glance over the drunkards hunched over the bar and look around at the sports nostalgia plastered on the walls.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t serve fancy cocktails here, miss,” the bartender says as his leering eyes wander over my body. I just laugh and sit on the corner bar stool. “That’s great, give me a glass of your cheapest beer.” My confidence and thick Bronx accent must have shaken him because he immediately turned to grab a glass and refused to even look my way as he slid it to me. When I’m finished with the first, I signal for another with a quick point of my finger toward the tap. No questions asked, my cup is full again, and again. As my vision starts to blur, the place fills up, and people huddle around the stereo, playing old rock and country tunes. I scan the bar and notice that there is not one fancy suit or uptight prick in the place and start to wonder if Luke accidentally wandered in here the same way I did.

Suddenly, a sloppy, bearded man in flannel stumbles my way, knocking my shoulder as he takes the seat next to me. He turns to me and merely says, “Wouldn’t you know it?” before his forehead slams onto the bar top. Two of his friends run over to drag him outside. Relieved he is out of sight, the TV hanging across the bar catches my attention. The broadcaster finishes rambling on about some local concert, and they switch to a woman interviewing a director on a high-end film set with a backdrop of Central Park.

“Turn it up, please!” I yell over the music to the bartender. He blatantly ignores me, so I lean in a bit closer to the screen.

The title of the film, Wouldn’t You Know It?, glides across a banner at the top, followed by the big headline: “Lead actress ends up in rehab and drops out last minute.” I chuckle a little at the fact that the drunk man’s ramblings were nothing more than a movie title. Finally, the bartender breaks his silence with me and nods his head in my direction as he says, “You know, you kinda look like that actress lady.”

In agreement, I frantically dig my phone out of my bag and text my headshot to the casting call number on the screen. In seconds, I received a reply asking if I could come in ASAP, and before I knew it, I had thrown whatever cash I had on the bar and hopped in a cab to what would be my easiest audition ever. Honestly, with filming starting in two days, they didn’t have much of a choice but to love me.

I walk off set, script in hand, ready to rehearse, and I can’t help but reminisce on the obscene day I’ve had. I think back to the video my sister sent me, the same dive bar from my phone appearing only a few feet away from me, the sloppy bearded man, and finally, the last-minute call of desperation for an actress who looks just like me. To think, my big break is finally happening, all because of a small series of luck that started outside of a dive bar.

Listen to the story here.

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