The energy in The Laugh Cellar was electric. It was Halloween night, a sold-out Friday show, and the crowd was a glorious sea of tipsy pirates, cheap-looking superheroes, and at least three guys who just put on a name tag that said “God’s Gift to Women.” This is my element. The weirder the audience, the better the show.
I was about twenty minutes into my set, feeling that perfect rhythm where the laughs roll into each other. It was time for a little crowd work. My eyes scanned the front row, a prime target for easy pickings. I landed on a couple. He was dressed as a “Cereal Killer”—a t-shirt with a plastic knife stuck through a tiny box of Froot Loops. She was… well, she was just wearing a black dress and a ferocious scowl.
“Alright, sir, I gotta ask,” I said, pointing the mic at him. “The costume. Did you spend more time on that or on convincing your girlfriend to come out tonight?”
The room laughed. The guy, Todd, was a good sport. He puffed out his chest and said, “This took hours of planning!”
“I believe it, man. The dedication is palpable,” I shot back. “Looks like you murdered about seventy-five cents worth of breakfast.”
More laughs. This was easy. But then, from beside him, a voice cut through the air like a razor blade. “His costume is clever. You’re just being a jerk.”
The room went quiet. Uh oh. The girlfriend was not playing along. This can go one of two ways: it becomes comedy gold, or it goes down in flames. I decided to lean in.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he brought his own personal security,” I said with a grin. “Ma’am, what’s your costume? A fun sponge?”
A wave of “oohs” rippled through the audience. Todd was sinking in his chair, trying to become invisible. She was doing the opposite. She stood up.
“You think you’re so funny, standing up there making fun of people?” she spat, her voice rising in volume and fury.
“Well, yeah, that’s… that’s literally the job description,” I stammered, the comedian’s smirk starting to feel a little tight on my face.
“My Todd is a creative genius, and you’re a nobody with a microphone!”
Okay, the tide had officially turned. She was no longer a participant; she was a threat to the entire show. I tried one last off-ramp. “Ma’am, please, sit down. We can talk about Todd’s genius-level arts and crafts project after the show.”
That was the wrong thing to say. With a guttural roar, she grabbed her half-full glass of gin and tonic and started marching toward the stage. My brain short-circuited. This wasn’t heckling anymore. This was a hostile takeover. All the pre-written jokes evaporated from my mind. The stage lights felt less like a spotlight and more like an interrogation lamp.
My stage voice vanished, replaced by my actual, panicked human voice.
“Whoa, hey! SECURITY!” I yelled, dropping the microphone onto the stool and taking a step back. “Security! Yeah. Right here. Now, please!”
A bouncer named Gus, a man who looks like he eats rocks for breakfast, materialized out of the darkness and intercepted her just as she reached the steps. As he calmly but firmly escorted the still-screaming woman and a deeply humiliated Todd toward the exit, a stunned silence fell over the club.
I took a deep breath, walked back to the mic, and looked out at the bewildered faces.
“Alright,” I said into the microphone. “So… anyway…”
