One Heckle of a Show

I don't have any solid strategies for dealing with hecklers, and I really should develop some. Tonight, I learned that insulting a man's girlfriend is not a solid strategy.

I just witnessed one of the more interesting comedy shows I've ever been to. The event was actually a birthday roast of a young, local comedian, Sean Sinha. The party was held at a pizza parlor that hosts a weekly comedy show. I wasn't there to perform. In fact, I only went to the show because I had come from another comedy show at Rooster T. Feathers where one of the comics had apparently left behind his cheat sheet of jokes ragging on Sean. I stopped by the pizza parlor on my way home, thinking I might do a comic a favor by hand delivering his lost jokes.

I've only been to this venue once. I did perform, and did fine, despite the fact that the clientele and layout spelled disaster for me. While there is a decent sound system, the "stage" is right in front of the door to the bathroom, so performers can expect to have their set interrupted by customers needing to take a whiz. And with beers costing one dollar, there was a lot of whizzing going on. The lighting was the worst--all florescent overhead lights illuminating performers and would-be hecklers alike.

But worse than the set-up was the audience's attitude. Apparently, they are there to eat pizza, drink beer, and abuse comedians. Every comic was heckled by a group of 20-somethings eating pizza in a table in the back of the room. Among them was a couple of young straight guys, who looked like brothers and heckled relentlessly. All night, it appeared that this behavior was tolerated, if not encouraged. This venue is not for the fainthearted. I think this pair was too shocked to hear that I was actually gay to do any real damage back to me. After the show, one of them asked me if it was really true that I'm gay. He thought it was just my shtick.

When I got to the club tonight, I found out that the guy who left his joke sheet was not who I thought it was. He was still at Roosters, hosting the comedy show that I had just left. So I was trying to do a guy a favor and ended up stealing the guy's jokes. And I try very hard not to steal jokes. Since the roastee is a friend and today is his birthday, I decided to hang out for awhile.

The first comedian that went up was Chris Schiappacasse. Chris is a bold comedian, unfazed by any lack of appreciation from an audience. In fact, I don't think Chris thinks a whole lot about the audience, which is a characteristic I find intriguing for an entertainer. He didn't notice when a heckler wearing a camouflage ball cap threw a piece of penne pasta with creamy pesto sauce at him. This was definitely one of the same guys who heckled me when I performed there before. He's a scrawny little white guy with a serious Napoleon complex, sitting with his apparent girlfriend.

After Chris finished, the host commented that Camo Cap Guy is a pretty poor shot if he can't hit someone as large as Chris, who is a pretty big boy. This double-edged insult merely prompted Camo Cap Guy to fling another noodle at Chris, this time, successfully, as Chris was walking out the door for a smoke. Interesting venue, I thought, where audience members can literally throw food at the performers and suffer no consequences whatsoever. Even Iraqi journalists get tackled after the second shoe is flung.

Some of the roasters were actually pretty funny, and I was touched that they spent the time to write a bunch of jokes about Sean. Honestly, I thought it was sweet. I guess that's how young straight comedians show affection for one another--by writing jokes that cast aspersions on the other's ability to get sex, or worse yet, by implying that he's gay. I've become somewhat numbed to the prevelance of implicit anti-gay attitudes displayed on stage, even in our relatively progressive region.

Another comedian, who identified himself as 21 years old, didn't get far in roasting Sean before Camo Cap Guy and his girlfriend started in on their heckling. The girl mocked his stuttering over a joke, and asked if he's even old enough to vote. One of the comedian's first comebacks was to call Camo Cap Guy a faggot, and to ask if the girl he's with is his mother. Great. Now, who am I to sympathize with?

What happened next appeared to occur in slow motion. I'm not sure which insult threw Camo Cap Guy over the edge. He got up from his table in the back, and silently walked toward the stage. I could sense he was going to start a fight before he got to the front of the room. If I'd cared enough about the comedian, there would have been enough time for me to run up and stop the fight before it started. Instead, I dispassionately observed the spectacle with the ambivilance of a prison guard watching Jeffrey Dahmer get attacked.

Camo Cap Guy pounced on the comedian, but didn't seem to be trying to land any punches. A few people jumped up to pull the two apart. One young woman started screaming, "Stop or I'm calling 911 right now!" Camo Cap Guy responded "Go ahead and call!"

Fighting, I don't understand. Fighting without trying to land any punches really perplexes me. Why go after a guy and not try to hurt him? Pull some hair. Poke an eye out. Kick him in the balls. Maybe he realized at least one person was recording this show, and he knew from experience what prosecutors need to convict a guy for assault and battery.

At this point, I decided I had had enough comedy enjoyment for one evening and called it a night.

Happy birthday, Sean.