The President's Weekend was coming to a close. I jumped in the car and took my Mother to J.F.K airport and bid her adieu, slightly teary. She was headed back to London to make sure my elder sister hadn't joined a cult nor had sold my Mother's house in her absence. I then drove back to the Upper East Side determined to do something on my own so as to regain my independence and feel a sense of freedom that had been bestowed on me by my family's departure to the ski slopes of Utah.
On numerous occasions I had walked past the Comedy Club just two blocks north of my building. It was conveniently located on Second Avenue and its loud and bright sign beckoned me to enter into its comical corridors and explore a night of humor and laughter whilst cradling a couple of beer bottles. I perused its website and saw that there were six comedians on parade that night, all with glowing accolades in the world of comedy. They had all appeared on various television shows that I had never seen but it looked like a worthy line up and one that I was enticed to pay a visit to.
I arrived at its doors, ticket-less. Scrolling to the bottom of the web page where the purchase ticket button lay, never crossed my mind. My driving skills are excellent but I have yet to master the art of staying in one lane on the Grand Central Parkway and completing the sixteen steps to buying a ticket on line. The person who was keenly in charge of “greet and meet" looked at me rather strangely when I entered the establishment. "What name is the reservation under please?" she muttered while scrolling down her list. "I don't have a reservation," I retorted, hoping that one lost stray could be accommodated in the room behind.
"Well I am sorry." she continued. And before she could get any more words out, I had already started walking dejectedly to the exit door." We only seat those parties that are complete. We need everybody here to seat them." She had already turned her attention to the group of four young males behind me in the line and was processing their reservation. After a couple of minutes I was standing there again at the podium and turned to the hostess and said "It's just me. Table for one please."
"I am not sure you want to do that sir," giving me a warning of things to come. "You will be like a lost rabbit in a well inhabited fox hole." I ignored her comment not really understanding what she was talking about and ventured into the large comedy room equipped with stage, free standing microphone and rows of seats neatly placed around tables. I had left the "meeter and greeter" and moved on to the "Seater."
He shook his head in dismay as he sat me against a wall, next to a table , just to the left of the stage as the comedians looked out. "Are you sure you want to sit by yourself? I can try and put you with another group if they agree." I declined his kind offer. Solitude is what I was looking for. I didn't want to make idle conversation with total strangers and I certainly didn't pay the club a visit to make friends or pick anyone up.
I sat back in my chair, eagerly anticipating the show that was about to start. I clenched a bottle of imported beer in one hand , savoring its amber contents as the alcohol entered my blood stream and raced towards my brain. I was in a satisfied state of mind; relaxed, slightly tipsy, and still very much alone. In a split second the evening took a turn for the worse. The Host started his introductory comedy routine and immediately asked the question, "would the Hermit in the building please stand up?" "I know you are in here. He was just let out of a Queens’ Mental Institution today and he is here alone. Ladies please stay clear. He has a history."
I was laughing along with the rest of the audience with this rather humorous opening gambit, until he turned to his left and pointed directly at me screaming, "There's the weirdo. There he is." I abruptly stopped laughing and in slow motion, moved my head from one side to the other looking at the entire audience in stitches, pointing at me doubled over in an extreme laughter pose.
The next act started his performance and carried on where the M.C had left off. The new comedian asked anyone within five feet of me to stand up and move tables for their own safety; of which everyone obliged. I remained the butt of all jokes until the end of the third act when it started growing a little tired and the "on his own jokes," didn't quite get met with the desired laughter required. I had withstood the onslaught and had come out a stronger person, with elephant skin. I was bruised but not severely injured. The one thing I had learned: Never ever go to a comedy club on your own. Its like having a steak tied around your neck when you walk into a lions’ den.
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