Hatties...what?

Our only prior knowledge of Hattiesburg was from hearing it in the title of Todd Barry’s Thank You for Coming to Hattiesburg: One Comedian's Tour of Not-Quite-the-Biggest Cities in the World . We knew it was not-quite-the-biggest but figured if Todd Barry had been there, a comedy scene must exist. It was also a relatively short drive from New Orleans, so we went.

The show was held above a restaurant in a place that had a unique aesthetic. The downstairs looked and felt like a bed and breakfast with a nice restaurant, and the upstairs felt like a proper bar where wild times could be had - and it didn’t disappoint.

Before the show began, we met the host and shared war stories. This guy was awesome - he had done comedy in various cities throughout the South and was happy to put us in contact with bookers and hosts in other cities that he knew. He did a great job of hosting the room and set up all the comics to do well.

We had a lot of fun at this show. We connected with the audience, tried out new jokes, and enjoyed the moment.  Dan did especially well. He got on stage with a Sprite in-hand and took a slow sip before launching into the set. It sent a subconscious “I’ll start when I’m good and ready, not when you are” to the audience. He also had killer pacing and delivery.

Don’t be THAT guy

Every scene has one guy who’s paradoxically a fixture in the community but an outcast all the same. Let’s call him ‘Dave’. Dave is a guy who shows up to every mic and is perfectly friendly, but something about him is just off.

He stands too close. When he talks, you’re not sure if he’s making statements, telling jokes, or asking questions. His movements and eye contact are erratic. His sets are meandering, abstract mind-fucks. He shouts out non-sequiturs when comics ask the audience a question. He’s just off.

This scenes Dave got up right after Dan and I. In addition to being introduced as comics from Philly, we both had mentioned several times where we’re from. The first thing Dave asked was “Who here’s Mississippi? We all Mississippi?” and a few people shouted “No! The last two guys were from Philly!”.

Here’s a fun fact: there’s a Philadelphia in Mississippi. Of course, 99.99% of the people who make reference to Philadelphia are referring to the one in Pennsylvania, but naturally Dave - in intrinsically bizarre fashion - thought we were of the .01% from Mississippi.

I’ll take US Geography for $200, Alex

Being unaware of Philadelphia, Mississippi is forgivable but being oblivious about the real Philadelphia’s location is pretty embarrassing. When we told a guy after the show that we were from Philadelphia, he scratched his chin and repeated “Phil-a-DEL-phia?” in a molasses-drip Southern drawl and followed up after a long pause with “Hmm. Is that up in Maine?”

After a moment of stunned silence Dan said “Close - Pennsylvania” and we could see smoke pouring out of the guys ears. That’s how most of the conversation went. He asked questions, we answered simply, and the information would almost make it. This guy was like the exclamation point on the wifi when you’re trying to get internet -- some kind of connection was made, but the information never reached the servers.

Talking to this guy brought me to the sad realization that there might be some validity to the ‘Americans have poor geographical knowledge’ stereotype. Then again, maybe not -- in Dave’s case perhaps it’s not a lack of knowledge, but NEXT LEVEL knowledge. He’s just so good that he knows every cities double from Paris, Texas to Madrid, Alabama to Rome, Georgia.

We’re not saying everyone from Mississippi is dumb - of course not. It was simple happenstance that this guy possessed the intelligence of a wine cork. He was a one-off. However, if you asked people in the neighboring state of Alabama what they think of Mississippians, they’d tell you all Mississippians are stupid. It was comforting to see that all states have silly rivalries. It makes us feel less bad when we trash New Jersey.

On the road again

We left Hattiesburg and headed for Mobile, Alabama. The ride was going smooth until about midway through when the skies opened up out of nowhere. Sheets of rain came driving down, pelting the van in an unending stream. Pushing through the storm felt like trying to clear rough surf in a kayak. As luck would have it, one of our windshield wipers broke exactly at that time.

We usually park overnight at Planet Fitness or Walmart, but the rain and wiper situation forced us to pull over on a desolate stretch of country road where an old strip mall stood. We parked next to a beat up old Vietnamese restaurant and called it a night. Or so we thought.

There’s some kind of magnetic phenomenon where whenever we park somewhere, anyone in a moving vehicle within a mile radius has an uncontrollable compulsion to stop what they were doing and park right next to us to make a racket.

The rain pounding the roof was cartoonishly loud. It sounded like someone was whipping handfuls of marbles at aluminum siding. Any rest was short lived as vehicles inexplicably circled the van at random intervals throughout the night. When the rain let up we headed straight to Mobile.