5/17/13, 1:30 AM

Bar Open Mic, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

True to my word, I tell Erikka I’ll take the last thirty minutes of this week’s mic. I can tell she’s glad: a ton of people are still in the pitcher, which means we’re gonna have some angry comics on our hands. We talk at the end of the bar about how to handle this, and decide that it’s better to get everyone up, so before bringing me on, Erikka announces that everyone will be doing two minute sets from now on. She’s met with groans and boos, but she grits her teeth. “Would you rather wait and not get on? Didn’t think so.”

She introduces me, and I take the stage. I don’t remove the mic from the stand - no time. “Makin’ sacrifices, guys! Yeah!” I tell the crowd I have two things to say: one is that I wish I didn’t have so much useless information in my head - specifically, the names of the members of the Black Eyed Peas - and the other is a brief story about a customer who asked me to break a hundred so he could buy drugs later. The first bit goes pretty well, gets a couple claps, and the second one definitely has potential, but I can tell something’s off about it. The angle I’m coming from isn’t quite right. But I can’t worry about fixing it now.

I grab the pitcher and Quincy, another comic, asks if he can draw the names for the last section. I shrug. “Why not. Guest puller Quincy Jones up in here, everyone.” I keep the chatter in between comics to a minimum - don’t want to have any more irate comics on my hands. 

We get through fourteen comics in just under half an hour. I feel simultaneously exhilarated and run down by the end of the show. I thank everyone for coming, tell them to get out and go to bed, then turn off the mic and start packing up.

One of the comics comes up to me and tells me how unhappy she is that we had to cut time to two minute sets. Says it’s disgraceful, almost insulting. I want to tell her this isn’t my fault, if you didn’t want to do two minutes, you should have left, but I tell her I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do right now, and we’re working on getting things started earlier. She’s still miffed, but she leaves. I’ve got no problem with her shooting the messenger. I’m wearing the bulletproof vest of not giving a shit.

Me, Parker, and the bartender are the only three left. We all give each other the same “what the fuck is she talking about?” look, then laugh about it. These are the perils of hosting: pissed-off comics and drunk audience members. These, I can live with.

5/15/13, 11:45 PM

Bar Open Mic, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

It’s a slow Wednesday. I never noticed it before, but nobody really shows up to these mics until around 12:15, maybe 12:30. Dealing with a light crowd is just an opportunity for me to learn how, as a host, to set the bar and get the crowd to pay attention. Even though I’ve been doing this for four and a half years and I’ve become so much more confident in front of small crowds, it’s daunting to host for one.

I get up on stage, make the house announcements, then start on my material. I’m working out some new things tonight, and some reworked things. The consensus on my jokes tonight seems to be that they start alright but go nowhere. Bits about a customer telling me he needed drug money,  a friend’s job working for the government, working at a summer camp, and the US Postal Service all get solid laughs up front, but nothing further. I need to push myself and find the punchlines.

People wait in line for the bathroom as the main room show trickles out. As I tell the Postal Service jokes, some drunk asshole opens the bathroom door, screaming.

“It smells like farts in there! So many farts!”

He shuts the door. I look over at the line, then back to the comics at the bar. I remember what my friend Tre said about crowd work: say the most obvious thing. ”You shouldn’t be surprised that a bathroom smells like things that come out of people’s butts.”

He pokes his head out again. “So many farts!” Then the door is closed again.

I shake my head. ”Fair warning, it smells like farts. Let’s hope he stays in there with them.” As I start the next line of the bit, a comic comes up to drop his name in the pitcher. He can’t find it. I show him it’s in my hand, shake the names, and he drops his name in after apologizing. 

This set has gone off the rails. I decide to cut my losses, abort the bit, and start the drawing. I feel like I have a lot of work to do after tonight - honing my crowd work, tinkering with the premises to find where the punchlines are. Even my energy seems a little too low. But I’m recognizing my problems, and trying to figure out how to solve them. That’s about all I can ask of myself.

5/10/13, 11:45 PM

Bar Open Mic, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

I haven’t opened things up on a Friday night yet, but Clarke is more than happy to accomodate me and let me kick off the mic. I start before the late show lets out to try and draw in any curious patrons.

I get on stage, turn off the music, grab the mic, and stare out at the crowd. Before I say anything, someone starts to clap. “Yes,” I intone, “it’s time for the mic.” I feel a giddy energy take over me. This might be the most exciting hosting date yet.

I give the rundown of the rules, then start on my material. It’s all new tonight: a bit about my car getting broken into after I first moved here, some mild outrage at a guy I saw wearing two hats on top of each other, a story about learning to masturbate, and a bit of commentary on a news story I’d seen earlier that day. Even though the material is more premise than punchline, my delivery helps sell it, and the crowd laughs at at least one part from all of the new jokes. This is a set worth honing altogether. 

People are leaving the showroom now. The “get out” music emanates from the lobby. I see a few more interested parties in the back, give the rules again, then reach my hand in for the first name. I’m on the clock now. Time to step up.

5/10/13, 5:30 PM

Set List Open Mic, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

I don’t have to clock in until 7, which means I have time to do one of my favorite mics: Set List. I haven’t done it in about a month. I miss it. The crowd is small, as always, but the experience of flying by the seat of my pants is much more important than getting a super strong crowd response.

My set list for today:

CHEATING LETTER

EMERGENCY LOCKER

SHIVA HANDJOB

UNIQUE CUPCAKE

I’m fully committing to inventing details today. I start out with one nugget of truth - my poor math skills - but from there, I spiral into a yarn of elaborate calculator-based cheating on tests, culminating in me setting my calculator on fire, then setting a letter from the school saying they were going to un-graduate me on fire as well. “I’m dealing with a lot of my problems by burning things, these days,” I deadpan.

My emergency locker is apparently filled with firestarting implements: blowtorches, matches “of the short and long fireplace variety, because you never know when you’ll need something to burn for a few seconds longer,” fire extinguishers in case I change my mind. Then, the next bomb: “I’ve been getting off a lot on this lately, guys. Lots of burning fantasies.”

I throw in a story about having a wet dream involving Shiva, the Hindu goddess of destruction, that left me a eunuch from her burning hands. So I decide to open a cupcake bakery to channel my newfound lack of manliness - “or a cupcakery, as they’re sometimes known,” the biggest laugh of the set - where I serve unique cupcakes like Roasty Toasty Marshmallow, Car Tires, and the Eternal Wrath of Shiva, which is just a bunch of sriracha sauce. I thank the crowd for following my crazy ramblings, then get off stage.

In the back, another comic shows me a sriracha cookbook on Amazon. Apparently my cupcake idea isn’t too far off.

5/9/13, 11:45 PM

Bar Open Mic, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

I start things early tonight because we’re expecting an onslaught of comics. Thursday nights are busy. Erikka wants me to take the last thirty minutes, but I have to get up early in the morning so I decline.

I go up and tell a bunch of old jokes about college, still relishing the fact that it’s been a full year since I graduated. This new angle works for most of the jokes, but some of them lack the punch they possessed when I was actually in college. I’ll punch up the ones worth saving later.

I try to put some emotion in my voice. I need to get the energy up before the mic starts, make the comics feel like they have a shot at a decent set. This audience isn’t giving me much, so I don’t really know what those chances are. 

I get a few laughs, then finish up and draw the first name out of the pitcher. I have until 12:20-ish to keep things running smoothly.

Not a lot changes. The audience stays cold. Nobody really gets much done on stage. But open mics are necessary evils, which explains why thirty-two comics show up and eat it in front of their peers for three minutes at a time.

Still, I’m grateful. Nights like this remind me how lucky I am that I don’t have to stay until two in the morning unless I choose to.

5/9/13, 9:30 PM

Yoo Hoo Room, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

I make an effort to pay attention to the room before I go on. I want to get a bead on how the audience is reacting to things. I sit in a back corner, my hands and notebook on the table in front of me. The room is pretty cold. Nobody is getting much. Some comics look like this tepid crowd is affecting them, and their set suffers for it. Some mask it long enough to get a few good jokes in before their time is up.

Eventually, I’m up next. Standing next to the camera, I drink some water and watch the comic before me eat it. He gets a few chuckles out of the crowd, but otherwise, not much. They’re not feeling him. He says something about birth defects that makes me think of a one-off about conjoined twins that is so dumb, I have no choice but to open with it.

Josh introduces me. I take the stage and say my line: “It would definitely be rough to be a conjoined twin, but at least you’d be great at three-legged races.” Two people laugh out of the twenty or so in here. Okay then.

I try to transition into material I wrote a long time ago about the Paralympics, but I botch the telling. I’m getting nowhere. I’ve got to switch gears. I tell some jokes about living in Hollywood, dealing with the homeless, seeing people dressed in shitty superhero costumes - and shitty Ed Hardy shirts - and about living with six people. I talk about being broke. I close with a new joke about a Holiday Inn Express commercial that’s too long, but has a solid punchline. Most of my jokes get the audience going, except for a dip in the middle that needs some tightening.

As I get off stage, I feel relieved. I didn’t murder, but I didn’t suck. I hit some kind of sweet spot in the middle ground. I stayed confident up there, tried to not worry about if they didn’t like me. I’m trying to get used to thinking It’s not a huge deal. It’s not a huge deal. Just keep that in mind and it’ll all be alright.

And it was alright. More than alright.

5/6/13, 10:15 PM

NerdMelt Mic, Meltdown Comics, West Hollywood, CA

It’s the first time the NerdMelt Mic is on a Monday, and the room is empty to begin with. I feel like my chances of getting on are better. I shoot the shit with some of the other comics. A flood of people comes in at around 8:15. No surprise there - they must have read Comedy Bureau after all.

The names start to get drawn. I recognize about a third of the names that get pulled. It’s more than usual, but it’s only because I’ve been around longer now. They’ve come through Flappers or to some other mic I’ve been to in my free time. While I take a minute to reflect on my nine months here, my name gets drawn. I make my way over to the sign-in sheet. I’m going up 22nd. I’ve got a while.

I decide to drive home and make a burger, since I haven’t eaten a real meal in several hours. I say some brief goodbyes and I’ll-be-backs, jog to my car, and speed home. I cook a burger, scarf it down, then head back down Sunset Boulevard until I find a parking spot right across from Meltdown. It’s been about an hour. I should be going up soon.

I go in the back entrance to find a mostly empty room. The comics who are waiting to go on still sit scattered throughout the darkness, a couple seated in the area up front bathed in light from the stage. We’re in the late teens. The names sound familiar again.

My friend Emilio is up before me. I half-pay attention to his set, half-figure out my set. I don’t need notes this time; I know exactly what I’ll be talking about. I do catch Emilio referring to a girl he’s pretending to get a blowjob from as “ma’am” and file it away. Emilio finishes, thanks the crowd and the host, and gets off stage. I get brought up to a chant of my name and clapping from the back. “Hello! Thank you! Hi!”

I know where to start: “Emilio, I liked how you referred to that girl as a ma’am. So polite.” Laughter. I smile. “I haven’t had to talk to a girl mid-blowjob before, so I guess I wouldn’t really know what to say.” More laughter. A single clap.

I talk about living in Hollywood and dealing with its douchebags, being broke, and getting used to my new job as a freelance writer. I’ve told these jokes many times before, but not here. They feel fresher somehow, more energized. I like being back on this stage. Even performing to an empty room here feels better than usual. I wonder why that is.

I thank the crowd and the host, wave goodbye, and get off stage. I wait for my friend Joshua to perform, then we both leave. I’m his ride to the Comedy Store tonight. He thanks me as I drop him off, and tells me he really liked my set tonight. I thank him, tell him the same, and grin.

Two shows I didn’t expect to get on in one day. Not too shabby for a Monday.

5/6/13, 7:30 PM

Open Mic, Rockpaper Coffee, West Hollywood, CA

Rockpaper is not known for having receptive audiences. Hell, if you get an audience at all, you’re lucky. Mostly it’s just comics waiting to go on at other places, like the open mics at the Store or Meltdown Comics. Doing a set here is like stretching before lifting weights.

I show up at around 6:30, buy a slice of coffee cake, and attempt to sign up. The host, a lady comic I don’t recognize, tells me I probably won’t get up. This doesn’t deter me. I’m just waiting, too. I find a table in the back, pull out my laptop, and get some work done.

One by one, the comics go up, get out, and scare away the handful of normal passers-by who happened to wander in. Near the middle of the list, a big chunk of absent comics get called, then crossed off. I jot down a quick set list, just in case, then put my notebook back in my backpack. I start recognizing names as three before me, two before me, I’m up next.

Right before I go on, a group of five comics comes in through the back, demanding their skipped time. The host says she’ll loop back around once she finishes the list. But, for now, “coming up next to the stage, Jay Light! Who didn’t even think he would get to go on!” I emerge from my chair triumphant, whooping as I take the stage and shake the host’s hand. “I made it! Thank God!”

I tell a version of the freelance writing job jokes from Saturday night, then delve into some of my older jokes about working at a comedy club, with a couple tweaks. I get maybe two laughs, maybe three, but I’m not here for the laughs, necessarily. This is to loosen up, to see where I can rein in my words or heighten punchlines. This is practice.

I get off stage, thank the comic-laden crowd, and go back to my corner. I check my watch. The NerdMelt mic starts in about forty-five minutes. I should call my girlfriend before then. She’ll wonder about me otherwise.

5/5/13, 12:30 AM

Bar Open Mic, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

The open mic hosts have been crazy awesome when it comes to guiding me through the hosting process. It’s not exactly a difficult job, but to be a good host requires a fair amount of nuance that I didn’t expect before starting.

Most important: being in tune with the room. If you’re not on the pulse of how the audience is reacting to things, or how a comic’s set goes, then you’re not paying attention. A good host is present. A side conversation here and there isn’t a problem, but if I’m not keeping an eye on things, I’m not doing my job.

You have to be funny, of course, just like any other set. I’m trying new jokes here, but I have a good feeling that they’ll work. The crowd is lively and, after talking some things out with Parker, I think I know some new ways to talk about old things.

I talk about my new freelance writing job, about being in college, and how college kids are pretty much terrible people. (I just was one, trust me on this.) The crowd laughs loud at the right parts. The jokes aren’t perfect yet - hell, some of them I haven’t told in about a year - but they are good enough for further consideration. I’m happy with this.

After my set, I pull the next name out of the pitcher, call them up, and go back to my seat at the head of the bar. I have thirty minutes to pay attention. Maybe I’ll even find time to squeeze in a good riff.

5/3/13, 12:30 AM

Bar Open Mic, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

I’m taking over again. Thirty more minutes. Erikka gives me the same rundown that Aaron did the night before. I nod again. Just want to take it all in.

Erikka introduces me. I take the stage. I make the mistake of starting out with darker material - the one about the guy I saw dragging a puppy down the street. It’s unformed and poorly-structured. That doesn’t fly as well when you’re hosting. You have to be a little brighter and shinier, a little more polished. You should look like you know what you’re doing.

I bust out a joke about my long-distance relationship that has previously been hampered by me not knowing the whole joke, but this time I nail it. I get a couple laughs at the right places, which is all I can ask for here. It’s enough.

Then, I switch gears again and go with the baseball material. This is only the third time I’ve done the act-out on stage, and I feel less nervous about it now than I did when I started. I know it can be funny. It just has to be timed right. It’s so hard to discern any of that from an open mic set, but I give it my all. Most of the joke does okay, but, like always, I need to know the words better. All this fumbling around makes me uncomfortable.

I finish up, then draw a new name out of the half-full pitcher. I tell everyone we’re gonna have to go to four minute sets since there are so many comics tonight. I know they don’t really care. They just want some time.

I feel a little relieved. Five minutes is a long time when you’re not the one telling the jokes. 

5/2/13, Midnight

Bar Open Mic, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

Richy tells me that I need to start hosting the midnight open mics for thirty minutes at a time to get used to hosting. I say, sure, absolutely, of course, and thank him.

Aaron agrees to let me do the first thirty minutes tonight. I’m beyond excited. He asks me what I think a good host should do from across the ticket desk.

“Keep the show moving, keep the audience energized, keep things fun.”

He nods. “And get house work out of the way, too. House work is most important.”

“Got it.”

Aaron smiles. “You’re gonna do just fine.”

I’m clocked out and changed into civilian clothes by the time we get started. He does his time, then brings me on so I can get my five minutes out of the way. I’m grinning from ear to ear.

I talk about how I graduated from college a year ago, reminisce for a little bit. I talk about being kind of a terrible person in college, and wonder if that’s how it was for everyone. (Based on the reactions, I might not be far off.) It’s old material told with a fresh outlook. It works better than it ever has before. Good to know.

I finish my time, then draw a name out of the pitcher. Whoever it is starts their way towards me. I tell the crowd to keep clapping until they make it to the stage, then shake their hand, exit stage left, and take my seat at the end of the bar.

I like where this is going.

4/30/13, 10 PM

Tickle Me Tuesdays, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

I get to the club around 9. My show is in an hour. I kill time chatting with Parker and Jenna, who are both working today in my absence. My friends Raj and Julia show up. I talk to them on the patio, drinking a bottle of water. I can’t afford beer today.

On my way to the green room, Dave, my boss, stops me, pulls me into his office. “What are you doing tonight?” I run through my set, which I’d written out minutes before. “I’m gonna talk about living in Hollywood, some long distance girlfriend stuff…”

He stops me. “Don’t talk. Complain. It’s about complaining. Understand?”

I swallow my words and nod. “Okay. Thanks.” He nods back, then leaves his office. I finish my trip to the green room for another bottle of water.

This is where Dave and I differ: I don’t think comedy is about complaining. Comedy is about conveying emotions in a funny way. Sure, it’s easy to find humor in complaints and anger, but it’s not the only way to wring a joke out of something. What matters most is an attitude. And now, my attitude is “prove Dave wrong.”

I’m going up second. The show just got started, so I watch the first comic. His set is a poorly-designed roller coaster: a couple ups and downs, but mostly flat. I can - will - do better.

Zara, the MC, calls me to the stage. I get brought on to the sweet sounds of LCD Soundsystem, so I dance along, even after the music stops. “I’m just gonna keep dancing awkwardly until you can’t stand it any more.” I keep going for a few seconds, then the crowd laughs when I hit a second too long. I smile. “That’s my one dance move. I know this one, too - ” I put my hands on my knees and swap them back and forth. I don’t know what it’s called. “I’m too young to know what this is called.” The crowd laughs more. Good start.

I talk about living in Hollywood, where celebrities apparently exist. “The only celebrity I’ve ever seen was three Spider-Men in progressively shittier costumes.” The crowd eats this up. I feel so relaxed. I’ve got them in the palm of my hand.

I talk about the Ed Hardy Dad, living in a house of six, being broke, being stereotyped as dumb for being in my twenties (not too far off, as it turns out), and close with the Ms. Thirteen joke. I find good places to talk to the crowd, give them little asides here and there. I smile. I am at ease. I get the light, thank the audience for being awesome, then bring Zara back on.

I jog back to the back of the room, on the side where the comedians sit. I need to let this soak in for a moment. The comfort came easy, but the attitude required some effort. That’s not a problem. It’s just the next thing I need to get used to.

4/28/13, 7:30 PM

Beginning/Intermediate Student Showcase, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

The club is packed today. A fundraiser for old people finishes up in the main room while the students, eager to showcase, sit in the Yoo Hoo Room, heads down, going over their notecards. I pace. For some reason, I feel nervous. Raul, a Flappers staple, assures me I have nothing to worry about. “You’re the ringer.”

I’m going up first because, immediately after my set, I have to drive to the Comedy Store to be a fake DJ in a fake rap battle. I tell the rest of the showcasers this. They all react with sadness, but joy that I’ll be doing something at the store. Variations on “that’s awesome, Jay!” reverberate throughout the green room. Pats on the back are abundant.

We get a final pep talk from our teachers, then we move to the main room, which is finally available for our show. The crowd has filled in by now. It’s not a huge audience, maybe fifty people, but it’s the biggest one I’ve ever performed in front of in the main room.

I look at my notes again. Why am I nervous? None of my friends are here. This shouldn’t matter, but it does. I breathe deeply, try to push the butterflies out of my stomach. I’m not used to this uncertainty.

The show begins. Michael, the MC, gets up on stage, wowing the crowd with juggling, magic tricks, and a balancing act involving people’s shoes. The crowd seems game, albeit a little slow on the uptake. I make a mental note to bring some energy.

Michael introduces me and I jog to the stage, shaking his hand as I go. I move the mic stand, mutter some things, then start with my material. I talk about Hollywood and its douchebag denizens, then talk about my living situation. They’re on board, save for one punchline they don’t laugh at. I address the tension, and it dissipates. Okay, we’re off to an alright start.

My next chunk is about being in a long-distance relationship. When I announce this, nobody reacts. “That’s the right reaction, nobody should be happy about this.” Laughter. Then, from the corner: “She is!”

I panic for a second, then say something to the effect of, “I doubt it.” Instead of properly shutting down the heckler, I brush him aside and move forward. I’m too hyped up to be focusing on random outbursts from the crowd. I soldier on with my material.

Midway through, I blank on what else I wanted to talk about, so I pull out an old joke about my last long-distance relationship. The one that didn’t go so well. Thankfully, it still works, and I even get a new tag implying that my penis is flavored like BBQ potato chips. I’ll keep that one.

The set goes alright from there, until the end, when I don’t notice the light and get flashed off as I set up a new joke. Instead of ending on a laugh, I am forced to end mid-setup, leaving the crowd hanging in awkwardness. I replace the mic in its stand, thank the crowd, then dash off stage before Michael gets a chance to get up the stairs. I feel uneasy.

After the set, as I drive to the Comedy Store, I feel a little better. Sure, I may have approached the handling of my heckler incorrectly, and I may have let my nerves get in the way of my confidence, and I may have closed weak, but at least the crowd was laughing. I can learn from my mistakes. I have no other choice.

For a week after, I get kind emails and handshakes from the comics on that show, telling me they thought I was one of the best to perform that night. I’ll have to take their word for it.

4/28/13, 12:15 AM

Bar Open Mic, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

I’m in the lobby when I get called up, so I jog to the stage through a sea of comics and a surprising amount of people who wandered in off the street for a drink. I accidentally leave a comic who tries to high-five me hanging, so I loop back around once I put my stuff on stage, complete the high-five, and go back up. I can’t, in good conscience, leave a high-five hanging.

I start my set with something new-ish about how I wouldn’t want a typical office job, but the premise doesn’t get me far enough quite yet. It needs more emotion. I need a reason to not want the job, instead of just the not wanting.

I talk about being in a long-distance relationship. Most of the jokes hit hard - I’ve finally got a solid handle on the “keeping things interesting” joke - but others need work. Their setups need to be clearer. More succinct.

I close with another iteration of the Blind President joke, which winds up working out okay again. I’m on the right track with it, but it’s still not quite there. I just need to get it to fit in right. The crowd still laughs, and claps as I leave, and that’s good enough for now.

After my set, I get a call from Barry, the comic at The Gauntlet who liked me. He asks if I can help with a comedy rap battle at the Store tomorrow. 

Lucky me. I’ve got off work.

4/27/13, 1:30 AM

Bar Open Mic, Flappers Comedy Club, Burbank, CA

It had been a taxing day at work. People were acting entitled all night, demanding ridiculous things of us, getting mad despite us doing the best we could to keep up with their caterwauling about being “on the VIP list” or some other bullshit. I knew that the only thing that would really calm me down was a chance to blow off some steam at the mic. 

I ask my manager if I can get worked in, and he okays it. But Clarke, the host, has comics from last week to work in as well, and he tells me I’ll have to wait around for a bit, and is that cool? I mull it over for a second, then decide it’s still worth it. I’d still rather go up in front of a bunch of comics than go home and sulk.

1:15 rolls around. Clarke comes to my barstool to tell me I’ll be up next. Wonderful. I’m ready.

He gives me a nice introduction. “He’s a very funny comic, and a very hard worker, give him your attention!” I thank him as I get up to the stage, move the mic stand out of the way, and begin:

“Sometimes I think I downgraded by taking this job. I used to work at a summer camp, and that was the only place where you could slap your customers.” A couple chuckles here and there.

With that off my chest, I go into some actual bits. I try some new tags. My joke about my roommate’s obvliviousness to the Boston bombing gets a reference to SAG added in. My puppy dragging bit now involves an analogy to a fake baby being kicked down the street. Both of these go over fairly well. They’ll make solid additions to the team.

I tell a story about how I wish my parents had warned me about how my first relationship would end, since they apparently saw the heartbreak coming but didn’t tell me until years after. It’s not a joke yet, but the premise gets some laughs, and I tell the crowd I’ll flesh it out later.

I close with a bit about TV shows involving housewives that I just wanted to give one more shot. It’s never really worked, and it doesn’t really work this time either. It’s time to overhaul it or scrap it, and I’m leaning towards the latter. Some things just can’t be salvaged.

I thank the crowd, then get off stage. They clap. I thank Clarke for getting me on. Another comic gives me a fist bump, tells me he liked my set. A few guys nod with approval as I walk past them to the back of the bar. My anger at the wya I was treated by the customers dissipates. This is about all I could have asked for - a little recognition and approval after a rough night.