In the 2 months that I’ve been in L.A. I’ve hit a ton of mics so far—some open and some booked—and without a doubt, most have been overbooked with too many comics. 3-hour shows are not uncommon here. Some bookers seem to think audiences can last that long, but of course they can’t, especially when faced with a good percentage of newbie comedians and an endless march of bad dick jokes. 2 hours maybe if they’re watching a high energy act like Robin Williams, but 3 hours? No way. NO WAY. The laugh chakra can only take so much in a sitting until it’s cooked.
On the other hand, these marathon shows build endurance, albeit painfully. Because you’re waiting and waiting in the back of the club, praying that you’ll be called up to the stage next (but you don’t know for sure if you will because of course there’s no lineup posted) and so your hopes are dashed when the next comic up isn’t you, or the one after that, or after that, over and over and over…then finally…2 hours in—and that’s early for this beast of a show—the MC approaches in the dark and says, “Hey: you’re up next. What’s your name, again?” Fantastic…it’s your time…except that YOU ARE FUCKING EXHAUSTED. Your nerves are raw. You’re dehydrated and starving and need a nap. But you’ve gotta muster it…because by now you know the audience is pissed off after being forced to sit for 2 hours. The MC gets on stage and tries to rouse some enthusiasm, but fails; it’s more of an apology for the marathon than a proper introduction for you. The audience seethes. They’re burnt, baby, BURNT…some have even left…and for those remaining, their Long Islands have long worn off, leaving them cranky as hell. Luckily you have a weapon: you KNOW the audience is pissed, so you can use that—use it by acknowledging it. You run up on stage and crack some jokes about this being the longest running show ever, that the audience members are saints for sitting so long, that you just can’t believe the number of dick jokes the comics have trotted out (“Unlike Paris Hilton’s vagina, they couldn’t fit another dick in here!”), and that every possible topic that could’ve been covered HAS been covered in the past 2 hours except maybe for (INSERT OBSCURE BUT HILARIOUS TOPIC HERE) and you’re off and running…the audience remains skeptical at first, but when you get your first laugh at 15 seconds, then another at 25, then turn up the energy so high that the agent trainee from Creative Artists wearing the $12 pink tie like a cheap Ari Goldberg at table 12 (yeah, I saw you, punk) laughs his ass off and dribbles O’Douls all over his pants, YOU’VE WON, BABY. 7 minutes speed by, you get the red light, hit the closer, and run off with a wave, 30 seconds early, giving high-fives to the back of the room, where the MC mutters with venom, “Way to bring them back.”
Congratulations. You just survived another one. For now. Muhahahahaha.