I bombed standup so you don’t have to
‘Any girls with daddy issues in the house?’
It doesn’t look difficult to do. Plenty of people have done it before. But for some reason, doing standup comedy has always seemed especially daunting.
I have always had a fear of public speaking, and it has held me back from doing standup for my whole life. There had been plenty of instances of open mics, and I never made it to the stage.
I did my first open mic set in April 2018 at a craft brewery in Fort Myers, Florida. I had a “Hot Five,” a five-minute set to get as many laughs as possible.
I did pretty well, given the audience was mainly older people. I made the audience laugh when I talked about how it’s difficult for me to sleep in my dorm’s bed, and I had a good enough time as to where I thought I could do it again.
I waited a whole year, but I made my way back to the stage.
For the first go-around, I felt it went a little too well. I know that part of the creative process is to try something and learn from failure, and I didn’t get that failure.
For my second time, I set out to see if I could be not funny. My goal was to intentionally flop at an open mic.
I thought of all the different ways I would be able to achieve my goal.
Racist jokes? Well, I didn’t want to jeopardize my entire future. Just the night.
Edgy, raunchy jokes? I’m not Louis C.K. Even he didn’t start with this.
Be awkward on purpose? This idea was just too cringe for me.
Just improv the whole set? Might as well.
I decided to do my entire set without any preparation. I had a rough idea for the things I wanted to talk about, but I wasn’t going to practice at all.
For a Thursday night open mic, I was put last on the bill at Kava Culture bar which, I have to admit, is pretty fitting. I was slated to perform at midnight, and that was optimal for one reason: Everyone would be gone.
There were probably about 100 people in the crowd, and a lot of them looked like hippies. It was definitely my type of crowd, and I tweaked a few things in my set.
I sat through countless acts of guitarists, bands, rappers and singers, but no other standup comedians. When my name was finally called, I smiled, stood up and walked to the stage.
Calling it a stage is misleading. The stage is really just the top of, like, four steps. It’s more of a coincidence than a stage.
Nonetheless, I made my way up there and looked out at the crowd. My prediction was wrong.
There was still probably about 60 to 70 people in the audience, and there was just a bunch of eyes looking at me. Also, there was a dog just meandering around the audience, seemingly alone.
Everybody petted the dog, but I had no idea where her owner was. The dog came into play later.
As I stepped up to the stage, I got anxious and had second thoughts.
I thought about the experiences I’ve had with public speaking that ended poorly. I looked at all the people looking back at me, in silence, waiting for me to start my set.
I thought how much easier it would have been to just walk off stage. I thought about how much I would rather be in my bed.
But I brushed away my thoughts and started my set.
I opened off my set, for some reason, with a joke about girls with daddy issues. The crowd looked like there were definitely some of these girls.
If you’re not able to distinguish, it’s very easy to learn.
Does she wear heart-shaped sunglasses? Daddy issues.
Does she wear crop-top shirts and mom jeans? Daddy issues.
Did she dye her hair a different color, does she have regrettable tattoos, does she wear bangs, or does she have a septum piercing? Daddy issues.
By looking at the crowd, there were more of these girls than those without.
“I like girls with daddy issues, because I kinda look like a dad,” I said to the crowd. “But by the look of me, you wouldn’t be able to tell I’m 21.”
The joke didn’t do terrible, but it wasn’t great.
I then began to talk about my new car. My new car has been a big investment in my life, and was something I wanted to discuss.
“I got a new car because my last car broke down while I was on my way to Scarlett’s Caberet (a strip club),” I mumbled. “I guess it was a sign from God that I needed to pull up to the club in a better car.”
As I got halfway through the next joke about waiting at the mechanic, I realized this was just a normal person thing to talk about. There’s nothing funny about waiting at the mechanic, that’s just what people do.
As I was about tell the punchline for the car joke, which involved being in debt, the dog in the crowd just walked up the stage.
I asked “how am I supposed to compete with this?” I then flicked the dog off and, somehow on command, he trotted off stage left.
I moved on to my last part of the set.
I ended my personal hell by talking about this website, Death Clock. You put information into the website about your BMI and birthday, along with a few other things, and it tells you when you’re going to die.
The other people in my class were getting 60–70 years remaining. I got 19.
I then made a joke about how 19 years would’ve been great, because I was planning to “end my shit in two weeks,” and then begged the audience not to Baker Act me.
I do get these feelings from time to time, but I’m comfortable enough to joke about them. The reaction to the joke was a mixed bag of laughter and worried expressions, which is how I felt about the joke, too.
I would say this: My set wasn’t all bad. The worst part of the night was when I got stage rushed by someone’s dog.
I got a couple laughs here and there, but for the most part, I could tell people were more or less just being polite by not leaving.
Would I do it again? No, probably not.
My set more or less confirmed that I wasn’t cut out for the comedy scene. I’m alright with that.
Do I regret it? Well, I’ll let you know after I talk to my psychologist this week.
