On Stage: My Rise and Fall

On Stage: My Rise and Fall

Once upon a time…

I always thought I could perform standup comedy. So, while employed at a telecom company, I took myself to task. The local Yuk Yuks Komedy Club held amateur night on Tuesdays. I managed to get booked for one of those nights. To ensure some success, I rehearsed my bit, all 3 minutes, religiously. Since I had never attempted anything like this I stuck to things I knew. I was going to relay humorous stories that occurred to me.

Of course, my rehearsals took place in front of my associates at work. My logic was simple, if they smiled I was on the right track, if not, the story would be scrapped or rewritten. They were a patient bunch. When I felt ready to perform I informed everyone at the office about my engagement at the comedy club. Signs were posted throughout the office, advertising amateur night with yours truly on stage.

As the day of my performance approached the more nervous I got. I was going out on a limb and knew that my dignity and hard-earned respect was in jeopardy. Failure was not an option. Secretly, I hoped few from my office would actually attend amateur night. Besides, the admission was $10 per person, a deterrent if there ever was one. My feelings were mixed about the whole affair. On one hand, I wanted to back out and avoid making a fool of myself. On the other, it was the risk itself that attracted me in the first place. I needed to see if I could do it, despite the uncertainty.

As I walked to the front door of the club I wanted to vomit. I greeted the ticket seller and introduced myself. She seemed quite pleased that I showed up. It's going to be busy tonight, a full house, she announced. My stomach was rolling now. In fact, the club had 35 reservations from my supporters who were coming to see me. I went pale at the news. What had I done?

Since I was early, I chose to tour the club, get a feel for the atmosphere. I had never stepped foot into this place and here I was to perform 3 minutes of standup comedy. I must have been out of my mind. Slowly, people started to stream in. The company contingent had reserved 3 long tables to the left of the stage.

I took a seat closest to the stage, ordered a beer, and waited for my supporters. To my astonishment everyone showed up. To the glee of our server, as well. My supporters were well known for their capacity to consume alcohol. She was going to make some decent cash tonight. The emcee came out on stage, introduced himself and explained who the night's guest comedians were. He also introduced me as their amateur act even though they had not seen me yet. I quietly sat in the audience. No one explained to me that I had to wait off stage, so there I sat with my friends.

This emcee then launched into his act as he introduced me to the audience. Never having attended a comedy club, I was shocked at how he attacked me without even knowing what I looked like. He had the audacity to compare each other’s anatomy. My friends laughed at him knowing I'm not sitting six feet from the guy abusing me. My shock turned to anger as he continued his assault on his unknown victim, me.

After much abuse, I was then introduced. Slowly, I rose from the table and stepped up onto the stage. As my contingent cheered me on, I graciously accepted the microphone from the emcee. The look on his face ... priceless!

I thanked him for his not-so-kind words, and proceeded with my three minutes of funny stories. There were roars of laughter. To say the least, my first attempt at standup comedy was a smashing success. My stories hit their mark. The more they laughed the more they drank. Our server was especially happy. Afterward, I took my seat amongst my friends and basked in the glow of adoring fans. It was quite a natural high.

So well went my debut, audience members asked me to stay and regale them with more stories after all the other professional comedians had finished their acts. I obliged them, and my friends, stayed an extra hour after the last act to entertain remaining guests. It was truly a night to remember.

At work, associates looked at me differently. Several commented on the courage it must have taken to do what I had done. One said he admired my commitment, despite the risk. Others had no idea I could be so funny. I was a champion.

Not long after, I contacted the club and requested a second comedy stint. They agreed and booked me six months I later. However, I should have given more thought to this new commitment.

We all know that movie sequels rarely succeed like their originals. Apparently, I was to be no different. My personal life went into a death spiral. I did not write any new material or even rehearse the old stuff. I was destined to crash and burn on stage. I chose not to tell anyone at work about my second performance. Yet, I remained committed to keep my booking. It was as though I wanted to fail. I wanted to feel the pain of defeat. I was going to punish myself in front of many people.

So, I went and made a complete fool of myself. I was unprepared, unprofessional and very unfunny. I bombed. My performance was so pathetic that the manager of the club banned me forever.

Clearly, I did not dedicate myself to the second performance, regardless of my personal circumstances. I should have canceled my act giving the club owner time to schedule someone else. By not canceling I jeopardized his reputation, and mine. That’s why I was banned from the club, and rightfully so.

Also, I could have made a concerted effort in successfully completing this second challenge by maintaining rehearsals and focusing on the task at hand. In short…commitment.

I was not looking at the big picture, and paid for it.

Donald O'Connor

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