I first started a theatre company with a group of like-minded friends when I was at Melbourne Uni. Like-minded, in this context, means “pissed off”.

We were pissed off because we had all auditioned for theatre shows or attempted in some way to be involved in theatre during our first year of university and, despite each of being shockingly gifted, nobody was interested in us.

I remember turning up to an audition, being asked whether I went to one of the residential colleges and if I knew “Bigsie”, and then when I said I was unacquainted with Bigsie’s work, I was told I probably wouldn’t get in since they were “mostly casting our friends”.

That show, which I saw later in the year, was about as good as you’d expect it to be. There was an in-joke involving the sheer hilarity of a man wearing a dress that lasted for approximately two hours and the man next to me wolf whistled every time a particular girl arrived on stage, due to the fact that she was wearing what appeared to be a postage stamp.

This triggered my asking at Melbourne Uni what it took to start a theatre company. We started one, we advertised auditions for everyone, regardless of race colour and creed, and we had 260 people turn up.

Since that day, I have had a rather different view of auditions. Here are five things I’ve learned:

1. The people who are auditioning you already like you when you walk in the door. Seeing actors work is invariably a privilege.

2. The people who are auditioning you have a headache. If they repeat themselves, forgive them.

3. Some people can act their pants off but not be right for a role.

4. If you can’t commit to a show, it is absolutely CRUCIAL that you tell the people holding the auditions BEFORE they work day after agonising day thinking through every possibly combination of performers. There should be legislation in relation to this vital issue and I plan to start a lobby group.

5. 100 does not go into three. I’m sure I was right about the cronyism of the play I auditioned for in first year, but I think upon mature reflection it was a teensy bit dramatic to scowl at the director every time I saw him in the union building. Although he did wear a pretentious hat and call everybody “babe”.

Otherwise, if you have a question, ask it. If you want to do something a different way, give it a burl. If you see the people who auditioned you after the auditions, please be nice to them, even if they are wearing pretentious hats. Or torn old tracksuit pants and T shirts they’ve had since year seven. As the case may be.

Nobody tends to care as much about these things as I do, but these are the things I’ve learned. Headaches, tracksuit pants, and the mathematics of auditions. All good things to know.