You auditioned in your bikini at La Salsa.

You’re the star of an updated version of Little Red Riding Hood and have fallen asleep while on the phone with the director, who is running through the script, when you’re startled awake by him saying, “…and then the wolf’s cock piercing gets caught on your tongue ring.”

The director comes to your house and takes a loud smelly dump in your toilet.

Your first scene is a night shot on someone’s roof. When you question why there are no lights, the camera operator asks if you think the 7-Eleven down the street has flashlights.

Your character breakdown is “a bitch that dies.”

You’re at the director’s apartment sitting in front of a stiff pour of Jack Daniels and discussing the script when he tells you how much you remind him of Jodie Foster. On your way to the bathroom, you discover his Jodie Foster “room.”

You’re running around Griffith Park barefoot wearing a bed sheet and splashing fake blood on a man in his boxers.

The director folds your headshot into fours and puts it into his back pocket.