There is nothing worse as a comic than waiting to be paid…I take that back, nothing worse if you bombed, but that’s for another blog. I did a show last weekend, sold out crowd, peddled a few shirts, all is well. I have had five beers, have to drive six hours tomorrow…thanks for the show, now give me my damn money. With all due respect, of course.
As bad as that was, the headliner last week had to leave at 3:30 AM, so I had no room to complain. I will anyway, because I am an asshole, though. Post show we finally got done and had that terrifying inane back and forth with the last two drunk people. A guy came up to me and said, “You were OK, but that motherfucker was funny!” Great, now I hate you and have to listen to why I wasn’t as good as the headliner. (Side note – he bought nothing off either of us.) I went upstairs and the club had locked the checks in the manager’s office. Oh, joy! We finally got paid and my neighbors were rocking out to some Skynrd, so I had a great night’s sleep aka I should’ve slept on broken glass. Remind me to bring my Glock to the next show…