I’m serious, y’all. I’m starting to get worried about you.
Y’all don’t gotta tell me EVERYTHING.
I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it’s the two-drink minimum, or the fact that I’m holding a microphone and it makes me look “official.” But y’all are way too comfortable.
I am not your priest. I am not your therapist. I am not Dr. Phil. I am a man with a microphone and a drink ticket, and I am not qualified to handle your secrets.
But you just can’t wait to unload ’em, can you?
I was in Atlanta last week. Late show. I’m just trying to do some crowd work, some #improv. I see a woman, front row, having a great time. I’m like, “Ma’am, what do you do for a living? You look like you’ve got a fun job.”
She leans forward, eyes wide. “I’m a pharmacist!”
“A pharmacist! All right! That’s respectable. You’re out here… you know… counting. And… putting stuff in bottles.” (I’m killing it, as you can tell.)
And then she grabs the mic. She yanks it.
And she just… announces. To the whole room.
“And I’m sleeping with my manager to get the Saturday morning shifts!”
…Ma’am.
What?
The what? The whole room just goes “OOOOOH!” Her friend next to her just slams her head on the table and starts wheezing.
I’m just standing there. I’m frozen. I don’t have a joke for this. What’s the punchline? “Adultery”?
I’m like, “Ma’am… why? Why would you… tell all of us that?”
And she’s not done! Y’all, she was not done.
She says, “And the worst part is, his wife, Linda, is my nail tech! And she’s so good with her shaping. So now I feel guilty every time I get a fill!”
BRENDA. (Her name was Brenda.) BRENDA! I am not equipped for this! I do not need to know about your shifts! I do not need to know about your boss! And I definitely don’t need to know that Linda’s acrylics are on point!
Y’all! I just asked for your job! That’s it!
I’m not a confessional. This is a dark room that smells like stale beer and regret. This is not the place for your soul-cleansing.
You don’t have to give me all your trauma for me to make you laugh. I’ve got my own trauma. That’s what the whole act is about.
So I’m begging you. For my sanity. For the sanity of the other people at your table.
Y’all don’t gotta tell me EVERYTHING.
…But also, Brenda, if you’re here tonight… find me after the show. I have, like, 20 more questions about Linda. 🤣
