Thursday, December 13, 2012

Is This Thing On?

Dear Diary,

Just kidding. I am at a loss (for excuses) as to why I have not posted in such a long while. Yeah, I'm lazy, and yeah, I'm busy (a lethal combination).

I'll shimmy on past the preamble bullshit and get to the heart of the matter (and what I surely would have written about, regardless). On Saturday night, the group that I took out for the Comedy Walk, treated me like shit. They were not unresponsive, inattentive, or boring. No, all seven of them (they all knew each other) went well out of their way to make me miserable.

"We're not that kind of audience," said one of the women, after my Spanish obelisk (phallic shaped monument - google it) seamen/semen pun (an otherwise solid, if sticky, pun) fell...flat.

"We don't appreciate that kind of humor." They were all in their late twenties, so you can imagine my befuddlement. Additionally, they found my self-deprecating help-me-I'm-a-self-loathing-drug-addict act to be amusing enough.

My response (paraphrased, due to lack of proper context), "So you've had bad experiences in the past...with semen?" was met with ire and disdain.

There was one woman, we'll call her "the bitch," who delighted in making dry but obvious remarks in response to a lot of my jokes. The bitch attempted to maintain her too-cool-for-school demeanor even while her friends actually laughed.

For example, I have a gag where I pretend to take a phone call. After I "hung up," the bitch felt it necessary to point out the fact that I did not, in reality, speak to anyone on the phone. I made it known that I was impressed by her keen cognitive abilities and powers of observation, and I was about as serious in my praise as you could imagine. There were many other moments very similar to this one, and it took roughly 45 minutes for this woman to realize that she was being kind of a cunt muffin.

Perhaps the bitch felt cheated, because she paid money, and there wasn't someone waiting somewhere to call me, just for her. In fact, I was reminded several times by this group (usually in the high-pitched whine of a spoiled rotten brat), that they "paid money." I was not hearing this as a reminder to do my best, but as more of an excuse for me to expect their worst.

I could continue on about what all went wrong, but it all boils down to the fact that they went on the wrong tour for them. They expected history lessons. God knows why. They were not the first customers to have made this mistake. Unfortunately, once they realized their mistake, I was stuck with them for an hour, and they were determined to make the most of that hour, even if it meant tormenting me. Because, you know, they paid money, so they have the right to treat people like shit. Thank you, corporate America.

People who don't perform think that performing is so easy. It's not, and it's sad that so few people have ever actually put themselves in a position of vulnurable expression.