The comedy club audience inhaled on cue, a packed house, with the suction power that rivaled my super-duper-deluxe vacuum cleaner when it was brand new. Too bad I couldn't harness all that sucking power and turn it into profit. I needed some extra money, with Christmas approaching. And wanting to quit my job.
The guys fumbled and
stammered and basically got in my way as I climbed back into my chair. Thank goodness
for upper-body strength developed from years of pushing my own chair everywhere
in town. The boys were useless, thanks to stage fright.
In those few seconds
when my misspent life flashed before my eyes, the most dominant thought was,
"Someone is definitely out to get me." In the last couple of weeks,
I'd had two flat tires, a dozen prank calls at the office, and just as many
middle-of-the-night hang-up calls on my cell phone and the landline at home.
And now someone had stolen the ramp up onto the stage. What else was I supposed
to think?
Someone was out to
get me!
The silence, once the
guys stepped out of the spotlight, was profound enough to hear a pin drop from
across the street. Without super hearing. This was the type of moment in a
struggling performer's career when you either called it a night, permanently,
or you took the equivalent of a bloodbath on the next smart-alec line that
popped out between your teeth. I flashed those bug-eyed, horrified people my
best Pac-Man grin, buying a few seconds to think.
I swear, the only
inspiration that came to me was Kermit's line from The Muppet Movie.
"I hope you all
appreciate the fact that I do my own stunts."
Silence.
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