H is for Ha ha ha?
- or-
what I should have done and said at a comedy show.
If it's called heckling when a comedian receives criticism from the audience then it should be called 'hell'ing when an audience member receives criticism from a comedian, because it is far worse. It's hell. It's great when it is happening to other members of the audience who are not you, but it's horrible when you're the audience participant. Comedians expect to be heckled a bit when they're on stage, particularly if they are unprepared or just not funny. It's part of the 'biz', right? Audience members don't expect to be 'hell'ed when they're sitting in the crowd unless they call it upon themselves through excessive 'woo'-ing, loud shouts of "DO IT!" or express apathy after a comedians admission of recent brain surgery (all of which happened at this show). Of course, the likelihood of being called out by a comedian for doing these things is increased in direct proportion to proximity to the stage, that's why you often hear these shouts from the darkness in the back of the room; they think they're safe.
I should have sought shelter in the darkness at this particular show, I even planned on doing such. But I didn't, and I don't; I never do, because the over-achieving student always takes over when looking for a place to sit. Mostly because comedy shows, at least in Irvine, fill up like college classes, middle-section first (you want to be there, but you don't want to be called on), back-row second (you might not even want to be there but you definitely want to be able to text), first-row last (you want to know you were there). So this night, just like in college, I wanted to earn my participation grade, but not by participating, by simply sitting close enough to be seen. Even though we arrived late in attempt to not even have the option of sitting in the front, when my inner-student saw there were two empty chairs front and center, all plans for avoiding involvement disappeared. While being escorted to our seats at the Irvine Improv, my brother and I engaged in the typical conversation with the male host.
Host: Have you been here before?
Us: Yes.
Host: Well, welcome back.
Us: Thanks. Do you know who Doug's guests are?
Host: No, but they are special. I have two seats down here in front. Want to sit in front?
Us: (both knowing we had discussed not wanting to sit in front previously) Sure?
WRONG ANSWER.
What I should have said: NOOO. This is a highly participatory podcast and I have a fear of involvement due to a concern for the inevitable high-pressure situation brain malfunction that results from being called out in an uncomfortable situation you were not prepared for. Or, you know, just, No, thanks.
So I suspected, even feared, involvement but I thought maybe I'd be safe, there were other people in the front row that half-encircles the stage. I wasn't the only one (though I later realized I was the only female). I'd sat in the front before and never been drawn into the act or even made eye-contact with. But didn't fully realize until last night was that you can also turn yourself into a target for not doing anything at all at a comedy show, things like, say, not laughing. If you're not laughing and you're in close proximity to the stage you might as well invite the comedian to involve you in their act.
Dear Mr./Mrs. Funnyman/woman,
Please utilize whatever you can from your initial impression of me in your act.
Sincerely,
Mr./Mrs. Non-laugher in the Front Row.
The Improv even indirectly warns you of such through an informative, yet poorly produced and somewhat inappropriate video that is played before the comedy starts. In this video, Todd Glass lays out the audience's involvement, "Laugh, shut up, laugh, shut up, laugh." What can be simpler than that, he asks? Evidently a whole slew of things are simpler than that for me. I got a little hung up on the shut up command and forgot to laugh. Except, you can't forget to laugh, that's the thing about laughing, it's not something you remember to do, it just happens. Sure, some people can fake it, but I am not one of those people, and I know this about myself. I can't fake laugh, I can't fake smile, I can't do that fake cough to conceal an insult, I can't fake anything. I'm going to blame the video for me not seeing the warning. It really does make it seem too easy. It was like watching an infomercial for a product I knew I absolutely could not use and did not need. If the video was filmed more like an Exit Row warning on a plane flight* I would have identified with that possibly not English speaking man or woman struggling to lift the handle on the door. Then I would not have answered, silently to myself, "Yes, I feel I am capable to complete these tasks of laughing and shutting up if the situation so calls for it."
WRONG ANSWER.
I should have said: NOOOO. I cannot complete the simple tasks of laughing and shutting up in alternating sequence for the duration of a comedy show because I know myself very well and I know that I am incapable of forcing a laugh with any believability. Please arrange me to switch seats with a more capable audience member.
So there I was, seated front and center, direct center, the mic stand and I were engaged in a stare-down. The stair to aboard the stage nested against the back legs of my chair. I was it. There was a target on my seat and I should have moved it before I sat down. My brother even offered to switch chairs with me. But I said, 'no, no, it'll be fine.'
WRONG ANSWER.
I should have said, YES, please. They may end up doing stand-up before recording the podcast and I am in a prime spot for being involved in those stand-up bits.
But at the time I didn't know. I didn't know that each of the three guests were going to perform 10 minutes of stand-up before the show and before my eyes. So I sat, and I listened.
The first comedian was painful but tolerable with his out-dated Olympics and Michael Phelps material but not once did he involve me or look my way so I applauded as he left the stage.
The second comedian was a female - an instant red flag. There aren't a lot of female comedians, and for good reason, most females aren't funny, with the exception of Chelsea Handler. Some of them are, sure, but most of them are not, and very few are as funny as men, because men can make men and women laugh but women, they can barely make other women laugh so trying to make men laugh can seem like a waste of time. Being the only female in the immediate front, I was the barometer for this female comic. If I was laughing she was doing well; if I wasn't, things were going poorly. So she looked at me, long and often, sometimes glaring sometimes staring. And though I can't fake laugh, I can make eye contact like a staring contest champ and once that happened, it was over. She waved her invitation I so adoringly sent her in the mail and I opened the door. "Please, come in, use me." Now, there are two types of female comedians: lesbians and whores, this one was of the latter variety, and luckily that's the variety, if I had to pick one, whose comedy I'd prefer. Not because I'm a whore, I'm not, but because we have shared interests: alcohol - cheers!, abortion humor - kill it!, and, well, that's about it, but two isn't bad. And I'm not saying she wasn't funny, she was funny, at times, but smile and nod funny, not laugh out loud funny, and so I wasn't laughing out loud, I was mostly just shutting up. So she asked me, "Why aren't you laughing?" And I said, "I'm laughing when you aren't looking."
WRONG ANSWER
I should/shouldn't have said: Because you aren't that funny, but that would have ended poorly and possibly in a challenge that I would have inevitably lost, so I went the safe route which was not really that safe at all because it still ended in a challenge.
Now she was determined to make me laugh, but for some reason felt that we should get to know each other first, so she asked my name who I was with and other things that did not lead to punchlines as much as me wanting to punch her. Eventually she did make me laugh, I don't remember what she said and I'm pretty sure I just threw up some laughs at the next pause so we could end our relationship.
The hilarious part of the scenario, according to my brother, was unknown to me while all of this was occurring. I didn't know who this person was, aside from short, but my brother did, so he also knew that I actually love/d something she was involved it. The female comedian was non-other than
Dawn host of Mtv's short-lived but much-loved (by me and like two of my friends) show
The '70s House. The show that inspired me to install a Hustle Alarm in my own home. I said inspired, I haven't done it. Yet. Admittedly, she was probably my least favorite part of the show and I often remarked, 'Why does this show even need a host(ess)?' She's also involved in some other things or vary levels of amusement, some of which I even enjoy, but none of that matters, because the most recent thing she has been involved in is making me feel uncomfortable, and that's what I will remember of her. Sure, I don't know what it's like to be doing stand-up and stare down at the unsmiling face of a female sitting with arms crossed, maybe it's worse than being heckled, but I think I'd prefer it to being hell-ed, at least then you're in control, and hopefully getting paid.
Although I'm pretty sure I bombed at my latest gig as an audience member, at least now I have a rival, and Hate is good if you want to blow a minor event way out of proportion in an attempt to convince yourself that things happen in your life even though you don't do anything about them at the time but only write about it later one. Hell, that's what blogs are for, right?
Do the
HUSTLE.
* trademark Doug Benson, April 28, 2010.
