“No one will know. There are so many kids in the show.”

It was the early ‘80’s.

No internet.

No way to confirm information without a letter, face to face communication or something called a telephone, a nifty device used to talk to people which came secured to the wall or sat on a desk. There were even two giant books with pages and pages of numbers.

One, white.

One, yellow.

In which you could find anyone!

(Alternatively used as the perfect makeshift booster seat for holiday dinners!)

Today, we text, surf the internet and watch television on those handy devices. Information is accessed by our fingertips within seconds.

In the 80’s ? This could have been a problem for me.

In the 80’s, had the internet been in existence, one quick search would have revealed that this young hopeful actress had NOT actually been a part of several productions listed on her resume.

The Kennedy Center’s “Peace Child” and “Marama the Gypsy” are listed under the Professional Theater category on my resume, as is a Washington Opera product of “La Boheme”.

As if.

I wish.

Often, my Mom would, well, add these small indiscretions in an attempt to beef up the experience on my resume. And, as it was these products did use children, she just kind of, well, snuck me in the stage door . . . figuratively.

But wait. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up.

I do remember attending one incredibly disorganized rehearsal for one of these products.  Or maybe what I attended was the audition, albeit run chaotically.

I truly have no idea.

I just remember being in a room. In the Washington D.C. area. With a lot of children. Everywhere.

What I do absolutely recall with certainty, is that even back then, it wasn’t clear who was in charge or what was going on that evening. I didn’t know who all the people were, what was happening, when I was supposed to sing, where we were, why we were there, or how this production would ever get off its feet.

But it did.

Without me.

And thus, taking advantage of the chaos and whether they (whoever “they” were) would even remember me,  the opera ended up on my resume.

Because, really, who would know?

I remember being uncomfortable when we’d add fake credits to my resume – paranoid I’d be found out by the Washington D.C. theater police.

Scene: An audition for a musical in the Washington D.C. area. Joline walks in and presents her resume to the director sitting behind a table with his or her creative team.

Director: Joline, I see here on your resume that you were in {Insert “Peace Child”, “Marmara the Gypsy” or “La Boheme” or, shamefully, a handful of industrial films that I don’t remember booking. Like, really, if I can remember some of the stuff on my resume, why not all – unless I WAS NEVER CAST IN THOSE PRODUCTIONS!}.

Joline: (With confidence and cuteness – using her best Annie stage-smile) Yep!

Director: That’s interesting.

Joline: (Tentatively) Such a great show. Fun experience. Yep. Great.

Director: It was. It was. Only, here’s what’s interesting. I directed that show and can’t seem to place you. And he (or she – referring to another person at the table) choreographed the show.

(Awkward pause.)

Joline: (Nervous laughter) Hahaha – well there were soooooo many of us, and you know, I was in the back, though I should have been in the front, though, actually, wherever you placed me was totally fine, really, you did such a great job on that show and well, you know what, my Mom is waiting for me outside and I actually need to speak with her, RIGHT NOW, and it was grand to meet you and, um, thanks for seeing me. Scene. (Swiftly exits.)

The credits still remain on my childhood resume.

Today, with one google search, an actor touting a role in a show that he or she never played, can be outed in seconds.

Me? I’m admitting this theatrical lie 30 years later.

No longer an kid trying to make a go of it, I’m now a grown women with distant embarrassing memories.

For everyone to read.