Making the Glade

I went in for a general casting reading at a major network last week. The entrance was a long hallway leading to a large desk behind which sat a friendly, petite security guard.

"Hi. I'm Abbi Crutchfield. 2nd Floor?"

--Please sign your name.

"Wow, it smells good in here!"

--It's my cologne.

"No, I think I'm picking up on an air freshener. It's in the whole lobby."

I know what you're thinking. You don't tug on Superman's cape. You don't spit into the wind. You don't ask a chubby woman if she's pregnant, and don't insist someone's cologne is an Air Wick. But he smiled, closed his eyes and nodded.

--Vanilla and cinnamon?

"YES!"

He held out his wrist so I could take a closer whiff. Sure enough, the set of Steel Magnolias was up his sleeve, and he smelled amazing. "Essential oils," he explained, "Good luck up there!"

Perhaps he is the aromatherapy Bagger Vance assigned to calm the nerves of all auditioners.

"I always felt an actor's grip on his script is like his grip on the world...the rhythm of the SCENE is just like the rhythm of LIFE...Inside each and every one of us is one true authentic scent. Somethin' we was born to smell. Somethin' that's ours and ours alone. Somethin' that can't be spritzed on ya or dabbed. Somethin' that got to be remembered. Over time the world can rob us of our identity. It get buried inside us under all our wouldas and couldas and shouldas. That's why there's Country Apple. Crisp Ocean Breeze. Clean Linen..."