To be young again

While in Baltimore, several people told us about a heated rivalry with Pittsburgh. That was enough for us -- we drove East to check it out. Dan C loves Pittsburgh - he has family there, went to college there, and said it’s a great comedy town. I had never been and had only heard negative things. Friends and family affectionately called it “Shittsburgh” and made it sound like a wasteland of toothless, jersey-clad Steelers fans belligerently shouting “Six rings! Six rings!!”. I was eager to see for myself.

Philly to Pittsburgh is roughly a five hour drive - no big deal. As we were packing the van we realized the heat suddenly stopped working - big deal. Driving five hours through the frost covered tundra didn’t sound too appealing, and breaking down in central PA would be a nightmare - there’s nothing out there. I figured we were probably low on antifreeze and popped the hood to check.

I couldn’t see any  liquid in the reservoir. Thinking the plastic was too thick to see through, I decided to unscrew the cap and have a look inside. After a few turns, I felt significant pressure buildup. Instead of thinking “Maybe I oughta wait a bit to unscrew this” I thought “fuck this thing, I’m not going to let it beat me” and cranked with all my might. The cap blasted off like a rocket, unleashing a volcanic eruption of antifreeze that left me soaked. I’m glad I wasn’t looking straight down the pipe.

Covered in steaming purple fluid, I was able to conclude that not a milliliter of antifreeze remained in the vehicle. Every last drop was in my clothes and hair. We quickly refilled the reservoir and the van heated right up, thankfully. If I had to endure the whole ride drenched in coolant and various oils without heat, I would have had frostbite by Harrisburg, and who knows what by Pittsburgh.

We found it strange that the antifreeze had been that low in the first place. After topping off in Philly we checked the coolant every hour or so to see if there was a leak. Sure enough, by the time we reached Steel City it was almost empty again. We took the van to a garage that said they’d have her out quick. That ‘quick fix’ ended up taking three days and a couple hundred dollars.

Life on the road is austere. There are no warm beds, hot meals, or creature comforts. You’re out in the wild, untethered ... until your vehicle (or home) is in the shop. Believe it or not, business owners aren’t crazy about having drifters sleep in vehicles under their roof. I don’t understand where it comes from. When have people in vans ever done anything to anyone?

When traveling, we live a no frills existence. We work remotely in cafe’s, shower at Planet Fitness, and spend evenings at comedy clubs or bars before passing out in the van. Our diets are trash. We subsist primarily on duck food - crackers, bread, and the occasional sandwich. Sometimes we eat fast food, but we really only borrow it.

That spartan lifestyle ended as soon as the van entered the shop. We went straight to Dans grandparents house and lived like little princes for three days. We had home-cooked meals and warm beds for the first time in ages. The only thing missing was footie pajamas with butt flaps - which i’m sure his grandma would’ve knitted immediately if we had asked.

Staying with grandparents is the only thing that can change a person's behavior so quickly. When fresh baked cookies hit the table, you instantly transform from a 28 year old telling autoerotic asphyxiation jokes to an 8 year old telling corny knock-knock jokes. Grandparents just have that calming influence. It was relaxing to get off the road for a few days and focus on writing.

We reverted back to our old selves as soon as the van was fixed. When it got out of the shop we went straight to a mic. The first show we did was at a college. We jumped at the chance to perform somewhere other than a bar or club. College was a really unique experience for us. We looked and felt old as shit. When we walked around campus we felt like wizened old trolls prowling a playground.

Most of the performers on this show were new to comedy, and the audience could feel their nervous energy. Confidence on stage is a strange beast. Awkward nervousness works if it’s part of the act, but genuine nervousness is the kiss of death. Although audiences generally root for performers, they will turn their back if they sense weakness. Great jokes can get crickets if delivered nervously, and bad jokes can get belly laughs if delivered confidently. It’s like a jedi mind trick.

Dan and I have already died a thousand deaths on stage, so we were untouchable. We were like the grizzled sergeant calmly strolling around a battlefield with a cig in his mouth as bullets whiz past his head. There was a collective breath of relief when the crowd realized it wasn’t our first rodeo. We closed the show and crushed the room - it was a great feeling.

We were immediately encircled by students when the show ended. They were starry-eyed and excited to talk to us. It felt like a bit like being famous, which was hilarious for us. We are anonymous open mic comedians. Most crowds view us like pond scum, but this crowd viewed us like national headliners. Like two big time gunslingers dropping in and and tearing shit up.

Of course our little moment was extremely short lived. An hour later we hit a bar mic and were immediately knocked back down to Earth. No asses were kissed and no shits were given. We went from killing the crowd to the crowd wanting to kill us for interrupting the Penguins game. When that was finished, we were off to Virginia Beach.