I don’t travel as much as I used to for comedy, but people used to get excited and ask me where my next gig was. I’ll give you a couple stories to show you it’s not what you think. Don’t get me wrong, there were some great times on the road – staying at casinos is a blast, having people in a new town buy ten of your dumb shirts is really cool and you get to see a lot of small and large towns and sights. Other times, though, it sucks.
My second ever road gig out of state was above a bowling alley – huge crowd, fun room, but the hotel was less than expected. I opened the door and realized there were makeup stains on the pillowcases. A lot of makeup, like Tammy Faye Baker was smothered to death and the pillowcases were being preserved as evidence. I went to the front desk. “Can I get a new pillowcase? This one is dirty.” The manager, not native to our fine land, acted like I was asking for another bed. “WHAT? MY WIFE CLEAN THIS! IT CLEAN!” I stopped for second, taken aback, then got pissed. “There’s makeup on here, can you not see? Either your eyesight is bad or your washing machine doesn’t work!” “FINE! I GIVE YOU ONE!” Again, like I was asking for Egyptian linen and fresh rose petals.
I went back, then realized nothing had probably been washed sheet wise, but the towels were clean, so I covered the bed with towels and turned the heat up to avoid using the blanket. Oh and I drank a shitload after the show so I could pass out in that garbage dump. That helped too.