In an unmarked building somewhere in Culver City, I sat cross-legged in a room with 30 other well-groomed young females in knee-length skirts. Nothing more than sheer curiosity kept me seated, filling out a job application -- the kind with form fields for your last three employers. I haven't seen one of those since I applied for my lifeguarding position at the Lake Mary YMCA in college. We handed in our applications and were greeted by a middle aged, over tanned man in a turquoise shirt with a gold necklace. After snapping at one of the women waiting with us for this "interview" to "get off her cell phone," he snapped on a smile and faked an energetic welcome.

We were led like cattle to the back room of a studio where animals were auditioned for roles in TV shows and films. Photographs of canine mug shots lined the walls like silver screen legends in a 50's diner on Sunset. Sitting at full attention while Mr. Over Tanned pitched us on how great casting is and how great his casting team was, we were lured in with promises of hundreds of dollars for a mere two days worth of work. All we had to do was get parents with their children to attend a casting audition on Sundays...and then we would get paid. It sounded familiar. In a town where competition arrives daily via the 405, the 101, etc. these girls were willing to drive from as far as Palm Springs for the hope of a promise of a paycheck.

It's our energy. It can't be harvested. They can only take what were are willing to give. A free service here or there to get a job, or a foot in the door and zap -- we're the young, vivacious female beer keg of overachievers trying to get what we can from the Hollywood Vampires who will suck our energy dry if we let them. I don't regret going to the "interview." I learned more about how the industry works and how it works others.