I was going to save this one, but it was so awful it is a subject/blog/round unto itself. The infamous Blue Raccoon comedy night, just over two years after I started. Tis a cautionary tale for all sides of a show: comic, audience and booker. I’ve covered this before, but it’s been a while and I didn’t go as deep into it a few years ago. Enjoy.
I was approached by a man I’d never seen before at the Funny Bone open mic. He said he was putting together a show and needed some comedians. The show ran with an emcee, who did some time, then brought up usually about a dozen comics, who got five minutes each, until the closer, who did more time. He got my attention when I was running to take a leak between performers. “Were you on the show tonight?” Yes, I’m the emcee. “What number were you?” I’m the emcee…I was first…third…fifth…seventh… I noticed at this point, he clearly wasn’t watching the show to save $5 and was just hanging out at the bar or he legitimately had no concept of what an emcee was. So of course, I gave him my contact info for his show, because new comics are dumb.
He emailed me (still didn’t know his name; again, new comics are dumb) and asked if I would do the show for free beer. It was 40 miles from my house. No. I finally used all my skills to get him up to $50 cash to emcee the show. Bad money for the trip, but I was open and it was just emceeing, right? I walked in and he had two bouncers working the door, I got one of my buddies in by saying he was filming my set (two can play this game). The bar was a little rough – there were paper copies on the restroom doors that proclaimed, “Anyone caught doing drugs in the bathroom will be asked to leave.” That means 1) It’s happened before and 2) The druggies needed more clarification because it’s not obvious that you’re not supposed to do drugs in a bar bathroom.
The next part of the disaster was finding out that this jackass booked NINE comedians and told them all to do TWENTY minutes each. That’s a 3 hour show. Even better, almost every comic on the show had never done a paid set and/or ten minutes at once. Also, apparently only me and two other comics bothered to negotiate any pay for this show and two guys I’d never heard of before were told they could do as much time as they wanted to. To supplement the door, the booker (whose name I did not know still) set up a crockpot full of coney sauce and weiners for $3 a dog. I began running around and telling everyone to cut down their sets. It was too late, he had already bullied the new guys into full time or they wouldn’t get anything, even a buck.
The show was OK for a short time – I was working hard and won the crowd’s attention, which was hard as there was no stage. I stood on a small disco looking dance floor. Then I brought up a brand new comics who had been doing open mics for less than two months. The show careened off the road. That was the pattern all night. Experienced comic, good crowd. New comic (which was over half), show crashed. After nearly four hours of show time later, where I had exhausted all my material bringing the show back, I was ready to get my pittance and get the hell out of there. I was sweaty and angry as I sought out the, ahem, “booker”.
He waved me outside to the patio and was acting very strange. “Well, here’s the deal. The thing is, well…let me tell you the thing.” What’s the thing – give me my money, I have to get rolling. “Well, the thing is, the flyer cost a lot of money (side note – he had a very high gloss flyer made that he had dispersed across the city to promote the show. You could have propped a car on the flyer to change a flat, it was so thick with laminate) and the food didn’t sell very well. (Oh, no one paid $3 to eat your beanie wienies?) I didn’t even pay my bouncers.” The visceral rage shot through my veins instantly. I had about one rational moment left. “Well, you agreed to pay me!” “That’s the thing, the deal is…” I cut him off. “You made two mistakes, you forgot you’re dealing with a redneck and you didn’t pay your bouncers, so no one has your back.” He looked at me and shrugged, “I don’t have any money.” I don’t know why, as I had never done this before, but my hands shot out and I began double hand choking him. He dropped to his knees, flailing about like a fish out of water. With one hand, he was trying to break my grip; the other reached into his pocket and handed me a $50 bill. “Thanks!” I heard myself say. My friend Laura was right behind and she got paid also. I don’t know if anyone else got anything, but I found out later most didn’t get a dime.
At that moment, I realized I had probably exit stage left and quickly. We piled in the car and threw gravel as we pulled away. I learned after that show to assume nothing, not take shows from guys who don’t know what an emcee is, work off a contract if possible and most importantly, a double hand choke is more effective than threatening to write a really nasty letter when you get home…and after emceeing a four hour comedy show, it feels a lot better to do so.