bad day at work
written by Ophira Eisenberg (Nov/Dec 07)
One thing I love about doing stand-up comedy is how unpredictable it is. Like a failed chemistry experiment, no two shows yield the same result. For every gig that I’ve thought, “I love these people!” there is always one lurking where I freak out and feel something to the effect of, “Oh my god, this crowd is going to fucking hate me!” Then an Obi-Wan-like voice interrupts and says, “But a comic should be able to do every kind of show, Ophira. Just start your act.”
Some bad situations have even turned around, like when I performed at a dirty strip club in Hamilton, Ontario. The comedy show was the first hour before the main attraction and I’m sure you can guess how many people came excited just see the comedy. That would be zero. Luckily, the strippers, or headliners, were in the crowd and they actually seemed like nice girls. They were the kind of strippers that would say, “Oh please don’t do coke around the baby!”
These strippers ended up being so supportive that if it wasn’t for them, we wouldn’t have been able to do a show. They laughed at everything. Soon the salivating men followed. I went into a series of bits on my failed dates, one stripper yelled from the crowd, “It’s so true! So true!”
If you don’t know my act, here’s a brief run down of who I am, what I do, and don’t do. I’m a female comedian. I am not an insult comic by any means. I don’t really have any material that is below the belt. I have jokes about my family, my dating life, drinking, drugs, technology, life in NY, and stupid people. My taboo jokes are dark, making fun of death and often result in either the desired laughter, or they make the audience feel uncomfortable, like the time I talked about subway jumper-suicide and trying to figure out where they live to get their Manhattan apartment, only to find a woman in the crowd reacting poorly because her friend jumped. We never did find out where he lived.
College gigs for me tend to be a whole different stuffed animal. A few times I have walked away, shaking my head thinking, “You can have them Dane Cook!” or “If global warming fries the earth, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” The circumstances under which you perform are often ridiculous, the least of it being that most Student Activities people assume that you don’t need a stage. Guess what? All the world is not a stage and we shouldn’t go around pretending that if your cover a pool table with a piece of plywood, you’ve created one!
But last week was different. When I arrived at this college in upstate New York last Wednesday, I had a good feeling about it. I thought, “This will be fun! This is a nice looking college in the middle of nature. It’s beautiful here.”
I was shown to the performance area which was a brand new theatre. A THEATRE for god sakes! It was gorgeous with plants flanking the sides of the stage. A stage hand even asked me if I would like any particular backdrop. I asked them if I could get “Superstar Ophira!” in big pink flashing lights and they offered me a façade of a Brooklyn brownstone. I laughed and told them that no backdrop was required. Then I was introduced to my technical director, shown to my dressing room and sound checked on the most amazing wireless microphone I’ve ever used.
Everything was so nice. I was convinced the show was going to be one of my best. That was until the booker guy showed up and reassured me that he had hired eight staff members who would be dispersed through the crowd.
“Why do I need eight staff members?” I was honestly confused.
“Oh in case a fight breaks out. But that hasn’t happened in years.”
My head started to feel like it was on fire. I didn’t want to do my show to a crowd that was known to riot. I took some time and went outside to sniff the fresh air and plan a strategy that ended with me driving away as a fast as possible.
Then I did something totally corny. I looked up at the endless country sky that was starting to fill with stars and gazed at the brightest star in my eyeline. I said out loud, “Please let me have a good show tonight.”
Finally it came the time to face the audience that needed eight staff members to control. I took the pristine wireless microphone and my place downstage center. A hundred disinterested faces looked me and I thought, “Oh my God, this is going to go horribly.”
What happened next could only be summed up as…awful. Two or three jokes in, my audience started to retaliate against me. They hated my brand of humor and slowly were deciding that they hated me, my friends, my family and all the jokes I had written on them. Or maybe it didn’t matter who I was, I could get a gauge of that from the eight staff members. The crowd just started yelling in my direction en mass. I could make out “Next!” and “Boo!” amongst mocking laughs. Then it dissolved into cellphone calls and general conversation. I’d like to say that this juncture that I won them back, but that would be a lie. I talked to them and insulted them which actually won me some points but I couldn’t control the cacophony of sound. And frankly, I didn’t want to. But I didn’t leave the stage. I stood there, facing their abuse, smiled, and told them that this wasn’t what I expected either and just did one joke from my act at a time to the sound of a hundred young college kids hating me.
I finally got off stage and the booker rushed back to meet me. The first sentence out of his mouth was, “Yeah that’s pretty much how I thought it would go.” At least I lived up to expectations. One thing was for sure, no one watched my video or myriad of online clips before they booked me on this gig. I was surprised that I did not feel that broken down. I just felt like – well, those kids certainly weren’t my people! At least now the college has instructional video of what they don’t want to see in their state-of-the-art theatre.
As I left the gig, a young girl came up to me and sheepishly said, “You’re never going to come back here are you?” “Oh yes I am” I replied, in a whispery threatening voice. As if I would be haunting the college forever. “I’ll be back every week.” I joked. Then I was walked by an armed security guard to my car.
Just before I drove back, I took a moment to survey the country sky. It was simply breathtaking and I could actually see the Milky Way. I looked up and said, “Fuck you stars! Fuck you!”
And I drove back to civilization.
When I got home, at around 1:30am, I went to the bar on my block that was empty other than two other bar flies, and drank for a couple of hours trying to cleanse myself of the experience.
Since then I have told my story to quite a few comedian friends. The interesting thing is, whatever I think is my most horrifying situation, some other comic has always had it worse. There is an endless supply of stories about microphones being pulled out of comics' hands, angry audience members storming the stage, chicken wings being thrown at their heads, or just plainly booing them from start to finish. It makes for good conversation and camaraderie, and explains why many of us lose our minds at regular office jobs.
Luckily the next night I had a great show, and between my empathetic comedian friends and my new audience’s laughs, much of the pain washed away. The worst part of is that I know that as long as I keep going out on stage, the possibility of an even more horrifying experience is eminent. But the possibility of an even better one than the best one I’ve done to date is too. I just have to remind myself to think about it that way.
To find out where Ophira is performing, visit OphiraEisenberg.com