Every
comedian has a story about their worst gig ever. This week I thought I would
give you mine.
Let's start with a little background...
The
best comedy happens in a comedy club... period. When a comedian is allowed to say
whatever he or she wants to say, unfettered by a responsibility to censors. As
far as live performance is concerned, it's the last bastion of free speech.
However, there are a lot of opportunities for a comedian
to sell out.
There are cruise ships, which tend to be a special kind
of Hell from which you never really recover, but I'll get into that in another
time.
Then there are the corporate gigs (sigh).
Those are the weirdest for a comedian. We tend to be
accustomed to performing for drunk people, but corporate have a totally
different vibe to them. There's a social hierarchy in the room, which means
that no one laughs unless the guy that outranks them is laughing.
Even if it's a party that the corporation is throwing for
its employees, everyone still thinks of themselves as being at work. If you
work for a corporation, you usually aren't used to laughing at work, except for
those times when you picture yourself mowing down everyone you work with in a
hail of gunfire.
Years ago I got hired to play a Christmas - sorry, Holiday
Party for a certain company. The guy that booked me fucked up and the pay wound
up being $100.00 for an hour of comedy. No self-respecting comedian would ever
do that much time for that amount of money. But the booker was a friend and I
didn't want to make him look bad. I was already at the hotel so I figured,
"What the hell?"
I'm waiting at the side of the stage as the regional
director (some fat fuck who flew in from Phoenix)
gets up to the microphone to give a little speech and then introduce me. I
listen intently to the speech to see if I can get any nuggets to make a joke
about in my show.
This is the speech he gives as I remember it; swear to
God, he goes, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we want to thank you for coming to
the party tonight. We want to thank all of you from the bottom of our hearts
for a great year. In fact, this has been the most productive quarter this
company has ever had, thanks to the Austin
branch!"
At this point I'm thinking, "Sweet! This is the part of
the night where he gives out year-end bonuses and I have an audience full of
happy people."
Then he proceeds to say...
"And while we're not going to be giving anyone a bonus..."
I could hear audible gasps and the Christmas dreams of
400 people get stomped under a knock-off Italian shoe.
"We are going to give each of you a digital tire pressure
gauge to show you how much we appreciate the work you've done."
People were weeping and cursing and half of the crowd
immediately stormed to the bar. That's when the guy continued with, "Oh and by the way, we're paying for your dinner but as
far as the drinks, you're on your own. Please enjoy your comedian. His name is
Matt something."
That
was my introduction.
This was my internal monologue at that moment...
This... is wrong!
These people have worked hard all year. They were expecting a reward for their
hard work. But no! This Fat Fuck from Phoenix
flies in bearing digital tire pressure gauges and no bar tabs and thinks it's
okay? No! I won't stand for it! I am a comedian of the people! I must right
this wrong! I must stand up and defend these people who have been treated
unjustly. Then they will be on my side as we unite against the Fat Fuck from Phoenix!
Now a more experienced and able comedian would have been
able to win the crowd over with clever banter and commiseration about how
unfair the Fat Fuck from Phoenix
had treated them. But since this is the story about my worst gig ever, you
already know that's not what happened.
I picked up the microphone and proceeded to say The Worst
Thing Anyone Could Have Said.
"So! How many of your kids are getting a digital tire
pressure gauge for Christmas this year?"
They were furious before, but now they had someone to
focus their rage at... me. They yelled at me. They cursed me. One lady, swear to
God, spat on me.
I dug in my boot heels and slugged it out. Forty-five
minutes later, I said goodnight when someone screamed, "You fuckin' SUCK!"
I left and the Fat Fuck from Phoenix called me the next day to ask for his
$100 back. I told him I was sorry but I had already given the money to a man
who kills people for a living.
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Quirkee Voices 
