What if I Tried Stand-Up...
When I was 16, I used to always say I wanted to drop out of high school and become a stand-up comedian, with my first bit going something along the lines of “So, I just dropped out of high school to pursue the dream of becoming a stand-up comedian, even though female stand-up comedians aren’t funny.”
& the audience would sit there offended, because they figured the “even though..” would be followed by “I know it’s so hard to actually make a living in stand-up” & not a sexist remark made by a 16 year old high school drop out.
But let’s face it, female comedians just aren’t funny…
So things kind of just ended with the guy I was starting to see, again.
And when I say again, I mean this obviously happens often.
I know what you’re thinking, I wasn't expecting the lack of surprise in your faces.
Jokes on you all, because I'm around myself 24hrs a day & I completely saw this reaction coming.
Things were going well for the total of three weeks we were involved. We met at a concert, hit it off, & exchanged numbers instead of IG handles like we did way back in the first decade of this century. We fell into this beautiful, prolonged text conversation--sending paragraphs like we were exchanging romantic letters in the time when people died from the common cold.
For THREE weeks, THREE weeks we were texting like this before we decided to meet up again in person.
Apparently the extent of which I talk is only charming in written form, where you can't hear my valley girl accent & can't tell that I speak almost exclusively in sarcasm flooded with adverbs.
I'm getting to that
age, though, when people I went to high school with are getting married to other people I went to high school with.
I'm getting to the age when those same people are reproducing.
Let me put this into perspective for you: I went to high
school in Plant City, Florida, world renowned for their STRAWBERRIES. Seriously, next time you buy strawberries, check the label. If they aren't from Cali, they're from Plant City.
The school is "conveniently" located 5 miles from any gas station & across the street from a cow pasture. There is ONE road that leads to the school. Just one single road. Our completely defeated football team got new uniforms every year & the principal was a former head cheerleader who graduated from that same school 40 years ago.
People wore camo as a fashion statement...
& those people are the ones getting married & having babies. Do you understand the fear in my voice now?
Anyway, that's happening down south & meanwhile, I'm bombing at an amateur comedy hour at 11pm on a Tuesday.
It's not that I necessarily want to be single, but it's the fact that I have an impressive lack of game. It's not an inability to talk to guys, no, it's the ability to talk and talk and talk
I find myself diving into a tangent & see their interest fading quickly. But I don't stop rambling when I recognize this, instead..instead I apologize for talking too much & continue talking!!
& on top of that, I'm honest. Brutally honest.
I don't even try to make myself sound impressive. I just lay all my flaws out there. I'm never on time to anything, I'm impatient, I lose valuable items on accident constantly.
Needless to say, we went on our first date and I never heard from him again.
I'm so terrible at managing money that I have trouble figuring out budget tracking apps.
Seriously, these applications are designed by brilliant people to dumb down accounting to people who don't even know how to go about getting a personal accountant.
These apps break shit down as simply as possible.
Even at the very first question, I'm stumped.
Input income as of today’s date…
So, am I supposed to put how much money I'll make this month or the amount of money I have in my bank account?
Because trust me, even though the math adds up--
(& math is actually a strong point for me. I know my time tables, guys. Even the hard ones like the 9s)
--but somehow, somehow there is always less money in my bank account than there should be.
I check my bank statements:
Coffee, coffee, MTA Vending machine, coffee, Target (whoa, $137 at Target. I just went for bobbypins, quinoa, & tampons)
Then, then it starts to get even more cringeworthy...
Bar, bar, coffee?? 1:20am, bar, cash withdrawl of $50 with a seventeen dollar ATM convenience fee (you know I'm exaggerating, but these bodgea atm withdrawl fees are truely outrageous),
pizza, bar. Lyft home. except...wait--
But even still...
Shouldn't I still have more money than this?
As I'm contemplating this as my screen refreshes another $30 is deducted from my account from pending electronic tip amounts being closed out.
It's a Friday & I’m eating lunch at a deli with table seating upstairs. There's a woman across the room on the phone with her insurance company, claiming she lost all of her 4 of her pain medication
prescriptions on a business trip.
I'm already doubting the legitimacy of her sob story.
She tries to sound professional, but can't hide the hysterics in her voice as she explains her doctor wrote her new prescriptions (big pharma shout out), but the pharmacy won't fill them because her insurance company won't let her.
After a pause, she starts speaking normally until after her first word “I’m” turns into an immediate scream that resembles my Arab father when I'd
leave the house in anything but pants in 11th grade “a member! I’M A MEMBER & you’re telling me I have to call another number & stay on hold for ANOTHER HOUR”
Again, I immediately begin doubting the legitimacy of her claims.
Nobody has the patience to stay on hold for an hour in 2017, especially not her with what I've seen from the escalation of this reaction in the past 3 minutes. Plus, everywhere has a call back option these days.
My logic is interrupted by her screaming “BITCH” before slamming her phone on the table & picking it back up right as it hits to dial the next number.
A stranger a few seats down from her laughs in solidarity.
The fuck is going on here?
She gets through
to the next person within seconds, mind you, before her alleged sob story is being repeated. This time shit. is. dire.
These pills are medically necessary. You don't understand the pain she's in.
Again, there is a pause & we’re all hit with her rage energy, like you just walked into room of alt-right neo-nazis on steroids and cocaine after Obama was elected for another term.
“FUCK YOU” she hangs up & keeps screaming “fuck you” into the dead line...or maybe to Siri, who knows?
Her comrade stranger lets out this noise that sounds like he wants it to mean “Fuck the man” but really says “I took some roxies before I ordered my sloppy joe.”
I finish my veggie wrap & walk back to work, make believing I have faith in our society, because I have to bottle up the fact that I don't, at least until my shift is over.