7 Minutes In Hell At An Open Mic
I’m about a month into performing stand-up and I’ve already pretended to quit comedy entirely three times (only to stay consistent with the comedy “rule of three”). That’s three times more than I’ve threatened to quit since I started doing improv and sketch writing in New York a few years ago, despite my family thinking “improv” and “sketch writing” are just interchangeable words for “stand-up.” After doing my first improvised stand-up set in December, which finally made good on my 2012 New Year’s resolution, it seemed like it was an appropriate time in my life to frequently expose my deepest, darkest secrets (fart jokes) to an audience willing to listen, and who also usually didn’t pay to be there. And what better place to do so than an open mic where you’re allotted seven or so minutes by which to live or die?
I was familiar with how hit-or-miss both the audiences and comedians could be in this environment, since I’ve been going to stand-up shows for a while (simply without participating in any way). I was in awe of anyone who could get up there, but I also witnessed a lot of rough sets that made me fear ever becoming someone who put themselves out there and then failed at being funny. Some of the shows I had seen made me think more about my exit strategy — like the odds of spontaneous combustion to avoid either staying until the end or looking rude by leaving mid-set. And even if you had good material, your fate still lies with the audience who might be super supportive or completely ambivalent in their reactions.
My first few attempts at stand-up were done mostly on a whim and I had very low expectations, so when I managed to get positive responses from my performances, it felt like a standard had been set. I wouldn’t allow myself to evoke less laughs than I had on those nights. I knew, though, that I was just biding my time until I had that awful set comedians are blessed with when they come to New York — the one that makes them question every decision that’s led them to this point, including the sad dinner of dollar pizza right before they got onstage (not to be mistaken with the happy dinner of dollar pizza that can be associated with a good show).
I’ve had my fair share of garbage improv sets over the years and have learned to quickly get over them, since the more shows you do, the less it stays with you after. Also, it helps that your successes and failures are shared with your teammates, unlike with solo performances where you’re up there alone. Stand-up feels even more daunting because of the vulnerability of being completely myself instead of hiding behind a character I’m inhabiting. The responsibility of the output falls on me and it’s something I had written and prepared, so it’s hard not to take each open mic so personally.
After having several shows I felt pretty good about, I did two open mics in a row that didn’t reach that crazy laugh-o-meter standard I had decidedly required for myself to achieve. I ignored the observation that a lot of the other comedians who performed weren’t getting many laughs throughout the night and I interpreted any palpable silences during my set to mean that everyone hated my stinking guts. I immediately determined that everything was the worst and comedy was dead to me (very grounded, reasonable thinking from a grown ass woman). I continued to brood like an angsty teen (or what my mom calls my “general demeanor”), disappointed in myself for not winning over every single member of the audience with every single one of my jokes and making them all love me forever and ever, even if I haven’t applied to grad school yet.
But that is a ridiculous mindset. I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that I don’t know how strangers in a bar will perceive my comedy each time I perform, so I just have to suck it up and keep putting myself through the ringer — even if that ringer consists of sitting through what seems to be a list of 589 people who signed up for this mic, with a few of them sprinkling in racist or misogynistic jokes along the way.
I’ll still keep doing my seven minutes, because whether they’re in heaven or hell, I’m going to show up and use that time however I damn well please (endless, endless fart jokes).
