I dragged my ass out of bed and ran across town. At the first club, the regular MC was out, and the comic that was filling in for her was someone I knew. A really good comic, but she didn’t know how to run a show. Next thing you know, I’m bumped. In other words, I’m not performing. In other words, I could’ve continued to lay in my depression longer. And this was just the beginning of the night. When I found out I was bumped, I didn’t even care. I actually felt bad for the host because she was so apologetic. I always feel bad when someone else feels bad. I started apologizing for her not being able to run a show and for bumping me. Normally, most comics would be pissed if they got bumped. At least disappointed. I felt like saying, “Seriously, can you help me get bumped from the rest of my night? Week? Life?” Break-up/Hell Job depression can do this to you.
Now I had to drag ass downtown. The first two shows were really close together in time, but far in distance. I hopped a cab, sat in traffic and hoped to get bumped from the next show. No such luck. I got there in time and waited to perform, only to see that there was a full audience which made things easier. Things were looking up.
But then right before I went on, I was told that I needed to keep it clean. Things were looking down. As I looked out into the audience, my face turned into a question mark. There were kids. I was booked on some kind of hell gig with kids. There is nothing worse in life than doing comedy for children. I’m no Soupy Sales. No Captain Kangaroo. No Fucking Big Bird. Who the hell thought it’d be a good idea to do comedy shows for kids? I couldn’t curse. I couldn’t talk about sex, drugs, or anything inappropriate. What was left?
I racked my brain to think of my kid friendliest material and was able to make it through my entire set, but it was a struggle. It wasn’t fun. And it made me even more depressed. Am I so foul mouthed and jaded that I can’t get through a set without cursing and talking about sex? The answer was, I could do it but it was with great difficulty, which was disturbing. After the show, I called my BFF (Best Friend Forever) and told her what happened. She was having a bout of depression herself and decided to meet me at my last show. We figured as soon as I was done with my set, we’d go get wasted. Alcohol solves most problems.
TO BE CONTINUED...