One nation, indivisible

We left Chapel Hill and headed south. The first order of business upon arriving in Atlanta was to crash a convention. A friend of ours from Philly was in Atlanta selling his wares, so we told him we’d meet at the convention center. He assured us the event was closed to the public and even if we were allowed in, passes would cost $60 dollars at a minimum. Challenge accepted.

We were promptly rejected on our first entrance attempt. Dan and I made the mistake of trying to walk in just the two of us. The guard saw we didn’t have access lanyards around our necks and swiftly turned us away. Learning from our mistake, we figured blending into a group would be our best bet. We spotted various groups of people milling about the entrance; we just had to select the right one.

The first group we saw was dressed in business attire. Dan and I were dressed in pants and T-shirts, so that was a no-go. The next group was carpenters wearing jeans, plaid shirts, and work boots -- still not the best match. We thought it was over until we spotted a perfect match: Amish people. Our bland clothes, long beards, and crappy hairstyles allowed us to blend in seamlessly. Following closely behind the tail end of their pack, we waltzed into the convention as if invisible.

When we got to our friends’ booth he was stunned. It was clear he thought we’d never get in. It was amusing watching him try to carry on discussions with potential clients as we clumsily fumbled around with sample products. In a bold improv exercise, Dan C began herding people to the booth to sell items he knew nothing about. Shockingly, he didn’t get any commission.

We couldn’t find any open mics after the convention, so we saw a professional show at the Laughing Skull Lounge. It’s always inspiring to watch professionals. It sheds light on how good you can become.

A statement for the record

The next day we found a mic in a hipster area of Atlanta. While we’re on the subject, I want to set something straight -- Dan and I are not hipsters. Sure we have beards and occasionally wear flannel, but that’s where the similarities end. I studied foreign language and business, not urban foraging and graphic design. Dan C studied math and computer science, not philosophy and mustache wax. We even listen to music that people have heard of.

Honestly, it’s impressive how quickly we get identified as outsiders among real ‘hip’ people. We could enter a hipster bar dressed in full thrift-store regalia, and everyone would still look at us like we’re a couple of suits.

Before you tap your delighted fingertips together and snicker “gotcha!”, we are aware that denial makes us seem more hipster. Hipsters would deny being part of group, as it’s conformist. Whatever you may think, we are NOT hipsters. We get up every morning, just like you, and put our skinny jeans on one leg at a time. We put our typewriters in vintage satchels, just like you, and ride our penny farthings to the nearest specialty coffee shop.

The struggle is real

We were engaged in what has become the bulk of our trips: struggling to find parking. We made a few passes around the venue and eventually found a spot that looked good. The front was bookended by a car, but the back of the spot was wide open. Even better, a weeping willow hung overhead, providing much needed shade on this hot summer day.

I pulled up parallel to the front car and cut the wheel. Backing the van in nice and easy, I could feel the long, wispy leaves of the weeping willow caressing the roof ever-so-delicately; cradling us in a sexy embrace as if whispering “I will keep you nice and cool, baby”. But before our lovers promise could be kept, a branch dealt a swift pimp smack. It wasn’t the kind of smack to knock you on your heels, but enough to get your attention. A sharp “thwack” echoed off the rear panel, indicating the small branch had just snapped. Thinking it was a one-off, I continued backing up. That’s when a second (and infinitely stronger) branch dealt a pimp haymaker - the kind to knock you on your ass.

Crunching into the trunk of the tree, the rear panel and mega-branch locked together like two rams battling for a mate. The tree buckled, stretching the branch backwards at an extreme angle. If I backed up another centimeter, the branch would’ve had the elastic potential energy to launch the van like a pebble from a slingshot.

I stomped on the brake with all my might, causing a cloudburst of leaves to rain down on us. After a few tense moments I gently shifted into drive, easing forward to reduce the tension on the tree trunk. Once I felt confident the branch wouldn’t explode in a hail of splinters, I sped away, embarrassed.

I wasn’t gone for long. Like a murderer returning to the scene of the crime, I circled back to survey the damage.

We imagined a crowd standing behind a yellow police-tape perimeter, tearfully sobbing “But I just saw them yesterday!” as broken branches lay dead under a billowing white sheet in the background. Nope. No one even noticed. Welcome to Atlanta.

The usual suspects

After being humiliated by the tree, our eternal search for parking continued. We didn’t have any luck in the commercial district, so we drove a few blocks into a residential area. After ten minutes a public park appeared out of nowhere like an oasis in the desert. Perfect!  We could park on the street and practice sets before walking to the venue.

We circled the block to find the best spot. While one of us drives the van, the other typically works on a laptop. That sounds like a logical, productive use of time. However, in practice it’s one of the most suspicious actions a person can do. There’s almost nothing more conspicuous than a guy typing on a laptop in a moving vehicle. The only time you see that guy is as a villain in a hacker movie, and he’s usually in the exact same van.

On second thought, if you’re on a laptop in any  vehicle that isn’t a plane or a train, you’re up to no good.

We couldn’t look inconspicuous in the van if we tried. The huge windshield is basically a magnifying glass allowing everyone within 5 blocks to see us in HD, and Dan C looks like an amalgam of every police-sketch jihadi.  Suspicion Level 4/10.

I looked suspect, too. Before driving to the mic I was taking pictures with a DSLR camera and left it hanging around my neck in case a good photo op presented itself at a red light. I didn’t realize how bad that would look - one guy clacking away on a laptop and the other with a garish secret agent camera. Suspicion level 6/10.

Cruising by the park, we noticed it was jumpin! There were at least 100 people grilling, listening to music, chatting, and having a good time. Usually when groups are enjoying such revelry, they take no notice of passing people or vehicles. But we weren’t just any people in any vehicle. We were the only two white guys in a half-mile radius, looking like hackers/spies/terrorists, driving a gargantuan (and freshly dented) unmarked white van. As we pulled up to the parking spot, it was like that record-scratch movie scene where the music cuts and everyone stares.

For those not already glaring at us, the skull fracturing reverse siren violently seized their attention. Suspicion level 9/10. For our suspicion coup de gras, we didn’t get out of the van when we parked. In full view of 200 + skeptical eyeballs, we skulked into the back and clumsily pulled down the shades. Suspicion level 536/10.

We were simply practicing our sets, but there must’ve been dozens of theories circulating the BBQ about what sort of nefarious individuals we were. From ‘murderers preparing their sniper rifles’ to ‘moron rookie cops on their first stakeout’ to the cliché  ‘pedophiles handing out free candy’, we’re sure the ideas were coming hard and fast (like pedophiles when handing out free candy).

After 20 minutes we hopped out, ready to hit the mic. A family parked next to us was struggling to unpack plastic tables and chairs, so we lent them a hand a shot the breeze for a few minutes. After seeing us interact in a non-creepy manner, the crowd let out a collective sigh of relief. If we weren’t crunched for time, it would’ve been awesome to hang around, eat some food, and explain to everyone that we were aspiring comedians only aiming to kill with laughter -- nothing else.

On to the show

Speaking of mics and killing laughter, we need to have a word about a shitty habit that happens at (some) open mics. Sometimes the stage and the bar are two separate spaces in the same building, and comics waiting to perform hang at the bar instead of the performance area. What the fuck is that? How does anyone expect to get better when there’s no audience and thus no feedback?

We’re not saying you need to stay for every set. We’re not even saying you need to laugh at the jokes. All we’re saying is if you’re in the building, why not support your fellow comedian by being an audience member? We’re all working toward the same goal. The smallest bit of feedback, even “Hey, I liked X or Y joke” is infinitely better than “Hey, go perform in that empty room while we sit at the bar and watch muted reruns of Law and Order”.

Some may say "You want us to stick around? Hell no, I've got places to be!". If that's the case then by all means go -- but don’t stay in the same place and actively ignore sets when you're done. Hanging around outside the performance room is like hanging around outside a video booth at Adult World. Once you’re finished either leave, or stay to give the next person a hand.

The comics that preceded us basically said the same thing on stage. They’d get up and say something like “Why the fuck are we even here? I could’ve just stayed home”.

The silver lining is it provides the opportunity to riff about shared annoyance and try totally new material. Dan and I didn’t bomb that day; you can’t really bomb in a room with no people. You more so just die.

When the mic wrapped up, we went out for food and drinks with the comics that stayed throughout the show. They were really cool and explained that that particular rooms culture wasn’t indicative of the overall comedy scene, which we’re sure is true. We’ll be back, Atlanta. Just like your city’s emblematic Phoenix, we died this time but will arise from the ashes.

From there we went North with our sites set on Asheville.