Originally published at www.SheckyMagazine.com
The first event happened when I worked at a comedy club. A couple was having sex in the lady’s room. The responsibility to get them out of the bathroom fell upon me. I went down to the bathroom and yelled from the outside, “Everybody clear out, we have to check the plumbing!” A sixfoot three Caracan came out with his five-foot two American girlfriend. They both had sheepish looks on their faces as if to say, “Isn’t it cute how we were fucking in the bathroom?” It seemed the situation had been taken care of until forty minutes later it was realized that the couple had disappeared again. Now there was a line of 5 women outside the lady’s room all waiting for the grunting and heaving coming from the other side of the door to subside so they could relieve their bladders. I banged on the door and yelled, “Quit fucking and get out of the bathroom!” They actually argued with me. Eventually they came out, but less sheepish than before. The girl walked past me, but when the Caracan saw the line of people outside the bathroom he decided that I was the cause of his embarrassment and not the fact that he was getting it on in the bathroom with a girl who resembled a small horse. Before I knew it I was six inches off the ground as the Caracan pinned me against the wall. I was able to get him in a headlock as the barback came up and grabbed him from behind. After a lot of drunken arguing they paid their check and left. A few minutes later I took the stage to a late-night crowd of 14 people. All of which were aware of what had taken place downstairs since half the audience was lined up to witness it as they were waiting to use the bathroom. I announced to everyone, “If you want to go fuck in the bathroom once, come to me and I’ll give you a one-fuck pass, but twice, I mean come on.” I closed the set with a well accepted plea of, “Goodnight everyone, please don’t attack our staff.” The second event had nothing to do with comedy. I was coming home to my apartment in Queens after a show. It was around one o’ clock in the morning. A guy came up in front of me wanting my money, while another guy ran at me from behind. After 3 or 4 minutes of dodging punches and wrestling I stabbed one of them in the leg with a small pocket knife. Then a third guy appeared with a knife as big as my forearm. Luckily, he seemed to be on my side and the muggers ran off. That was a very abbreviated version of what happened that night because that story has very little to do with standup comedy. If that happened to you though, I’d bet you’d find some way to fit it into an article too. My most recent confrontation was a few days ago. This past Saturday I pulled up to a club in Pennsylvania to see two guys in the parking lot trying to subdue a third guy who was raging about wanting to kill somebody. I gave myself a wide berth as I walked around them and entered the club. Forty-five minutes later I’m on stage, ten minutes into my act. That’s when things went awry. A loud, “Fuck you!” rose up from somewhere in the crowd. My come back was more angry than funny. Then I heard, “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” as the crazy guy I had seen out in the parking lot stood up from a table in the audience and began to run towards the stage. In a tremendous show of courage, I threw the microphone down and ran away. I ran past the bar towards the door, thinking that someone would grab him. As I got to the door of the showroom I saw that no one had. He was five feet behind me. It looked like I was going to have to fight him. I decided to do it there by the bar instead of on the marble floor of the hotel lobby. I turned around and slammed into the guy’s midsection. He started going crazy and tearing at my face as I wrapped my arm around his leg. His momentum threw us backwards into the video golf game and the popcorn machine. Fortunately I was able to turn around as we fell so I fell on top of him, and his head, instead of mine, slammed into the machines. I pulled my arm back for a punch when someone grabbed my elbow and said, “Come on, it’s over.” I looked up and three guys were already on top of the crazy guy. As they pulled him out of the room he started screaming again, “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” I’ve found that I’m a big fan of the post-fight screaming. When both parties are safely separated by five or six other people I enjoy letting loose a tirade of threats and obscenities. I also like to move forward as if I’m not done fighting yet, knowing that there’s three people there to hold me back. Right after the guy was pulled from the room I headed directly back to the stage. All of three minutes had lapsed since I had run off. The audience had seen the entire fight. My face was bright red and my hair was sticking up in twelve different directions. I picked up the microphone, looked at the crowd for a short moment and said, “What the hell was that !?!” What followed was one of the biggest laugh/applause breaks I’ve ever gotten, and maybe ever will. And to think, all I had to do was get my ass kicked. |