Post Austin

1

Literally.

But I can't afford a lawyer so...

That's why I'm here, for the past few weeks I've been hearing about the auditions and today I saw a flyer again and coincidentally it's on my way home so it's like the universe wants me to be here. If I should get the job I can promise you I'd probably get a lot more than what I get at the steakhouse for doing a tenth of the job.

Holding a beerbong?... Please!

I have always been a fan of Post Malone, I am in my early twenties so I was destined to go through the Posty fever, if that's even a thing. But I never would have thought I would ever enter the auditions.

Rich people and their need to spend money on unnecessary bullshit.

I entered through heavy wooden doors and it's as if the entire club atmosphere changes. The music slows, the temperature rises and it's quieter.

I enter an atrium and is told by some backstage manager that I was up next, everything happened so fast and before I knew it I was pushed through an opening and was now in some sort of studio room, the above hanging lights are blinding and I shield my eyes.

I saw the figures of a few people behind the bright lights but I can't make any faces out.

I realise now that I actually have a microphone in my hand.

"Uhhh... Hi!?" I speak into the mic.

"Jade Wilson?" An unknown face asks.

"Yes?"

"Do you even know where you are?"

"Pretty sure the sign outside says 'autions for Beerbong Holder' and then right undeneath in big bold letters 'Post fucking Malone', of course I know where I am." my frustrations of the day are already starting to boil to the surface.

"We don't usually get female auditions, is all. Continue then..."

I frown, "continue with what? Did I have to prepare something?"

"You're auditioning to be Post Malone's Beerbong Holder, that's a position held very high by this particular artist. You are supposed to be convincing him right now why he should hire you."

I shrugged, not really knowing what to do or say, "well please hire me because I lost my job and shit's expensive." I end by putting one hand on my hips.

"I can hold a beerbong? See what I did there," I shoot finger guns at silhouette figures in the dark, "cause it's a... Beerbong Holder... Position." an awkward silence stretches.

"Dance." A simple command comes, a different voice than the first.

"What?!" I ask. But I definitely heard correctly.

"If you would accept a bit of advice, you have two more minutes to make my dick hard so if you can move that fine little ass of yours, the time to do it would be now, or get the fuck out." the new voice was deeper than the first one.

Anger stirred in me, all the shit that always comes to me when I need it the least. Life is so fucking unfair and I am tired of pricks like this who make it even more difficult for people like me. I was being polite because technically this was a job interview but I'm obviously never getting the call.

A familar beat plays over the speakers, I recognize it as 'Wow' by Post Malone.

"You know what..." I spit into the mic before throwing in to the side.

I can't dance. And even if I could I would still do what I'm about to do.

As the intro begins I start to - very badly- do a wave with my arms.

I do a few kicks with my legs and snap my fingers while turning around.

I jump up in the air landing with my feet together clapping my hands together once above my head.

I stand in a wide squat position swaying from side to side, doing some type of ancient greek dance moves with my hands. My back is still turned to them and I hear a few snickers.

I wiggle my butt at them before attempting to twerk which is a very sad experience because I look like I'm having a stroke and I know that because I have, on multiple occasions, looked at myself in the mirror while 'twerking'.

I shimmy towards them before doing a hip thrust.

I twirl around like a ballerina before curtseying.

I drop the huge fake smile on my face right as two body guards came and escorted me out.

"Fucking asshole!" I scream in hopes they hear me.

My middle finger is perched in the air as I exit the studio.

"Hey girl, yeah... I'm on my way. I don't think I'm getting the job."

I sigh and ended the call. Hauling a cab home.