Comedy Goes

Standing behind the curtain, I look out at the sea of people filling the plaza I’ve been booked to perform at.

“Are you sure about this? Eddie, my manager, asks.

I turn to him and smile. “Of course.”

“Do you realize what you’re walking into by going on that stage?”

“Of course I do.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve lived my whole life with haters and homophobes, this won’t be any different.”

“But-” I cut him off.

“You worry too much. It’s gonna’ be fine.”

He opens his mouth to argue but I don’t give him the chance.

“Even if they start acting insane, I’ll be fine. I’ve handled worse in places where I can’t walk away.” He’s still worried. “Just look.” I walk on stage.

“I’m surprised to see so many of you out here,” I start. “If I had the choice I’d be at home on a day that muggy. Oh, wait, I forgot. This is Florida. Here days like this are normal.”

No one laughs.

I ignore the crowd's silence and continue. “I’ve already talked about the weather, but introductions aren’t done till we awkwardly exchange names, so hi I’m River Haul, the world's funniest feminist.” Again, my joke is met with silence, but this time I run with it. “Guess none of you are a fan of the joke I added because I would be performing here. All of you except the crickets in the back.”

I think I hear a chuckle, but it might be someone clearing their throat.

“I know you’re all disappointed that the band that was supposed to play couldn’t make it, but can you give me something to work with? My manager’s backstage; he told me filling in would be a bad idea. Don’t prove him right! He’ll never let me live it down.”

Nothing.

“You might be asking yourself, ‘Why would she be in Florida if she neither liked the sauna that you call whether or planned on performing?’ Great question! I’m here because my son is looking at colleges and he likes the one nearby.”

My audience is mostly middle aged so this next joke might actually do well. I really hope it does.

I make my voice emotional as I say, “My baby! Feels like just yesterday I was signing the adoption papers but now he’s off, leaving me and his mother alone!”

I hear some muttering. I can’t make anything out, but I know it’s not a good sign.

“My wife and him are actually at the college right now. I was supposed to go with them, but now that I’m not they’ll have to rely on my wife’s navigation skills.” I wave and hand over my throat and my throat. “I’m sure that’s not going well. My wife once got lost in a supermarket. I can only imagine her there.”

Someone in the crowd shouts a four letter slur starting with D.

The moment of stunned silence I take to process that someone just did that is long enough for some other audience members to get cocky and throw their own insults.

“Wow, wow, wow,” I say over the crowd. “I’m glad you’re more energetic but-”

Splosh

Did someone just throw an open water bottle at me?

“Get off stage!”

“Boo!”

“Run back to the other gays!”

“Go to hell!”

As more insults are hurled, something moves in the corner of my eye. Eddie is just offstage waving me over.

Before I decide to go to him, someone throws another water bottle, this one is metal and clangs to the floor in front of me. As I walk to Eddie, I think two things, one, these people are violent and two, whoever threw that water bottle is really stupid.

“I told you this was a bad idea!” Eddie declares once I reach him.

“You’re overreacting.”

“No I’m not.” He points at the crowd. “They’re bloodthirsty.”

I look, but I don’t see bloodthirsty people, I see children scared of what they don’t understand. “They don’t look all that scary to me.”

After a moment he signs. “Just go home. I’ll deal with things here.”

“You’re going to try and cancel for tomorrow, aren’t you?”

He gives me a look.

I put my hands up in defeat. “I’m not against it. Just curious.”

“I’ll try, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to.”

*

Two minutes to showtime.

Between the last performance and this one, I wrote two sets. The first is a bunch of jokes making fun of myself and my life that I wrote after Eddie told me he couldn’t cancel, the second is a set of insults I wrote after my son and wife got back from the college tour.

Waiting till it’s time for me to go on stage I stare at the sea of more faces than filled the crowd yesterday.

“Come back if they get violent,” Eddie instructs. I didn’t hear him approach.

I nod, but refrain from telling him that I rewrote my jokes last minute. I refrain from saying that I plan to make the crowd angry, that I plan to get revenge. Instead I just smile, pat his shoulder and walk on stage.

The crowd hushes and waits for my first word.

Looking at all these people. All these angry faces wearing homophobic shirts and signs, waiting to scream slurs, I smile. “I’m glad so many of you showed up.”

They stare silently. I wonder why they aren’t cursing? They’re probably waiting till I say something they think makes their behavior okay. Idiots.

“Some of you were here yesterday.” I say out loud as I notice the familiar faces. “I guess you hate me enough to watch me perform.”

Still no yelling.

“That’s fine.”

Someone stands but I speak before they can yell.

“I don’t care if you hate me.”

“Psycho!” Someone shouts.

I ignore them and continue. “I’ve been hated for as long as I can remember. I can’t afford to care.”

Someone stomps out.

“I knew we’d probably hate me when I agreed to this gig, but I did it anyway because I thought if I made you laugh you’d hate the people like me a little less.”

They’re back to quiet.

“I was wrong.”

I hear the beginning of five shouts. I stop them all by smacking the mic against the stand. Out of the speakers comes a horrible screeching.

Once the sound is done I speak again. “I thought trying to make you laugh would do nothing but good, but instead it turned the monsters you call children against my son.”

The cycle of audience then microphone screeching repeats.

“I’m on tour because my son is looking at colleges. He spent yesterday touring the one nearby with my wife.”

“What does this-” Someone starts before stopping. Someone else covered their mouth.

I smile weakly at the interaction, but that grin disappears when I resume my story. “He made friends with the other kids and went to an arcade with them after the tour.”

Quiet.

“Two hours later he called my wife crying, asking to be picked up. I was there at the time and offered to pick him up, but he said he wanted my wife. She ended up leaving and I waited at the hotel till they got back. I didn’t see my son, he went straight to his room, but my wife, she came to me crying.”

Some people are muttering now. I can hear them and I don’t like what they’re saying.

“She wasn’t being emotional and she hadn’t realized that she was destined to a christian hell.”

The muttering stops.

“She had learned that after my son had mentioned his two moms his new friends had called him names, and left him with the bill.”

The muttering starts again. This time I hate what they’re saying.

“Don’t you dare call my son weak!”

The voices quiet.

“If you were to go through that as a seventeen year old, you would be sad and scared too.”

The voices raise again, this time saying things just as if not more hurtful.

I hit the mic.

“I don’t care about any of you! I just wanted you to know that your behavior is the reason your kids are monsters.”

Everyone starts yelling.