“Stage four: Depression,” the trio said in unison.

I sat back down. Not because I wanted to. Because my body had entered a state of shock.

“Welcome to the weirdest audition of your life,” said the avocado. His voice was surprisingly deep. “I’m Gerald. I handle ‘vibes.’ Please, have a seat on the couch.”

The door swung open. A man named “Stavros” – fake name, real gold chain – led me down a corridor lined with faded headshots of people who clearly never got the part. At the end was a heavy velvet curtain. He pulled it back.

Gerald peeled back a corner of his avocado costume to scratch his nose. “That’s the snack schedule. You’ll be on set for 72 hours. No sleep. Only gas-station sushi and the silent judgment of a small rodent.”