I got a gig last week on short notice. I was happy to get the room, but it was a rough SOB. It snowed right up to a level 2 emergency, which makes the drive interesting. It wasn’t too bad until I got to the town. I nearly hit Jesse Pinkman and Skinny Pete, who were walking down the center of the road. If I would have, I like to think crack rocks would have flew out like a pinata.
The room was nice, but there was no stage, which means there was no way to see most of the crowd. The DJ was nice, but he kept asking me what color lights I liked behind me. How about ones that raise me up about 12 inches off the floor? The real bugaboo was the fact that the show started at 10 pm and there was no cover. That means one thing – drunk audience with no incentive to listen. I fired up the comedy engine and immediately a guy walked in front of me. Let me be more specific: He walked within three inches of me. On purpose. He could have walked anywhere, but decided right in the middle of my first joke to nearly shoulder bump me.
It was so rough, I didn’t try to sell anything after the show. One guy approached me, grabbed my DVD, opened it and took a picture with his phone. He then walked away without saying a word. I have no idea what he planned to do with it, but I’m sure it was a Facebook post saying he saw a real lump of dump named Chris Coen. That’s the part that burns the worst. I could have been possessed by Richard Pryor’s ghost and I would have had zero chance. I was angry, then I remembered I got paid. Two combo meals later, it will be gone, but right now, I’ll take it.