Kevin was never supposed to work at the North Carolina Department of Motor Vehicles. On the contrary, he’d always thought he’d be famous. After all, he earned a BFA at one of the least-respected theater programs in the state, played a crucial yet understated role in countless ensembles, and even had headshots taken once. Things just weren’t happening for him yet, but that was okay. Many famous people worked menial jobs before they got discovered.
When he applied to work at the DMV, Kevin didn’t think he’d get the position. He knew nothing about bureaucracies or administrative work. He had never worked a 9-5. He didn’t even have a license himself; why should he be allowed to hand them out to total strangers? The reality was that Kevin was unfit for the job. This fact was acknowledged by several managerial staff at the Raleigh branch of the North Carolina Department of Motor Vehicles. What Kevin did have, his decisive advantage in this otherwise competitive market for this lucrative starting position, was being the only person that applied. And while Kevin was largely unfit, he was not offensive. He had worked in the past. He had a bachelor’s degree. He could type and spell many things correctly. Most learning nowadays is done on the job anyway. To Kevin’s surprise, he received an offer letter in his inbox three days after interviewing, and was slated to begin as Clerical Assistant I that following Monday.
Kevin was an acceptable employee; he did no better or worse than anyone else would have in a similar position. He was often timely. He understood his role and its responsibilities. He did not hog the stapler and he did not chew gum. These were all good things; Kevin’s satisfactory performance meant he could remain employed at the North Carolina Department of Motor Vehicles. If he worked there for another two years, he might even be promoted.
To an unassuming spectator, this might all seem well and good. Kevin was a young person with a job in an otherwise tenuous economy. He was a respectable employee, and his work kept him off the streets and away from the riffraff that theater-types can sometimes become involved with. Still, in the back of his mind, Kevin wanted more. He believed he was destined for something beyond those thin cubicle separators. But how to escape from this drudgery, to find his way back to the back of the stage in undersold shows across America?
As Kevin pondered these and other questions in the dimly-lit glum of the Raleigh DMV office, he was struck by a memory. His mentor, who had starred in the off-off-off-off-off Broadway revival of Dogs: Cats Reimagined, once told him that a true actor can act anywhere (even if that anywhere happens to be in the back of a now defunct dinner theater for the elderly who have nothing better to do).
Kevin resolved not to let his current predicament (gainful employment) limit his growth as an artist. He began practicing his craft in innovative, subtle ways. Every new person got a slightly different version of Kevin: some saw a charming southern bachelor or a British expat, still others a bedraggled father of four. Complaints almost doubled, but all were seemingly about people that had never worked at the Raleigh Department of Motor Vehicles. When the announcement system broke, Kevin practiced vocal projection by calling out ticket numbers, causing semi-permanent hearing loss in some of his colleagues. If only the DMV had a more robust worker’s compensation policy! When clients became enraged at their own incompetence in bringing the necessary documents to their appointment, Kevin practiced stage combat to ward them off. Many a person ran from his cubicle in tears, but some punched back! Kevin obtained many colorful bruises during that time, but such are the sacrifices we make for art.
Despite being nearly fired on numerous occasions for these theatrical antics, Kevin felt he was improving. It was after his manager had finished haranguing him for one such incident that Kevin received word of an upcoming audition at the community playhouse. An audition! Here and now! It felt as if Dionysus himself had come to patronize our young Kevin, so perfect was the alignment of this new opportunity and his expanded repertoire.
Kevin prepared himself assiduously. He spent his breaks, both scheduled and impromptu, practicing monologues in the bathroom mirror. If only his manager could have seen the lines that developed during these unscheduled practice sessions! When the day came, Kevin did not show up for work, nor did he call in, so consumed was he by theatrical intensity and vigor!
Kevin wouldn’t get the part, but that wasn’t necessarily the part that mattered. Nor is it important that he was fired from the Raleigh Department of Motor Vehicles the next day. What Kevin noticed, indeed what the world noticed, is that he didn’t pee himself a little during the audition. It was a first, and for Kevin, a lifetime achievement.
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