The horror!

Heading Northeast out of Boston, we made our way through New Hampshire and into Maine. We had no sooner crossed the state line than were swallowed by ghostly mist. We should have expected as much from the state that provides the backdrop to Stephen King’s nightmarish tales. Everyone wonders where King gets his spooky ideas from, but if you’ve ever been to Maine it’s no mystery - just step outside. The whole place seems like a haunted forest.

Our next show was in Portland, which is a beautiful little city. Unfortunately we arrived just in time for two straight days of fog and drizzle. It doesn’t take long to get paranoid when you can only see 30ft in any direction. I was waiting to see a balloon following me around or Pennywise grinning from a sewer. Instead of monsters, I met locals who turned out to be the super friendly and welcoming.

Daily grind

We spent the first day working and writing at Starbucks, and that night we rehearsed sets in the van. Portland was small enough to quickly cross on foot, so we left the van at Planet Fitness and walked to the venue. We were enamored with the city. The buildings were picturesque, the people were charming, and the streets cut clean lines through the fog.

Just as we were beginning to think this place was too good to be true, we turned a corner and saw a guy sitting against a building with blood pouring down his face. We weren’t sure if he had slipped or been popped a good one (he was outside a bar, though, so probably the latter). An ambulance pulled up as we were walking by and we assume the guy got the help he needed. Or he ate the paramedics brain. This was Maine, after all.

Let the mic begin

The show was held above a small bar. When we asked the bartender where the mic was she excitedly said “you’re comedians? That’s awesome! The mic is upstairs”. That was a fresh take - comics don’t always have the best reputations. Typically when you ask where the mic is, bartenders think either “Great, here’s another schlub who’s just gonna sit here all night and not order any drinks” or “Great, here’s another drunk that’s gonna be a problem”.

We went upstairs and met the host and her husband, who were both comedians. They were kind to us and even gave out Halloween candy! The warm welcome was nice; it’s not always the case when you’re a fresh face in a new scene. But best of all, they followed the order comics signed up in, which is very uncommon at open mic. Mics are typically run like an oligarchy wherein a few scenelords control the list and get their people on first.

Until that point we had experienced performing without a stage, lighting, or some combination of of the two. That night we added a new one to the list: no microphones. It was good practice for projecting our voices and really connecting in small rooms. The intimate space and lack of equipment made the performances feel real -- almost as if you were joking around with a bunch of friends. The energy in the room was really positive. Everyone was excited for Halloween and some comics even dressed in costume (costumed comics got an extra minute of stage time).

Annoying interrupter

The only blight in the room was a guy interrupting and trying to find issues in jokes where they didn’t exist. The kind of humorless, oversensitive wimp that can find offense in anything. The type of person who asks “Is that objectionable?” instead of “Is that funny?”. The type of virtue signalling turd who goes for claps rather than laughs.

At one point a comic was talking about his personal struggle to define his sexual orientation and didn’t know if he identified as queer. Innocuous, right? Well, the interrupter took it upon himself to shout out “Can you define queer?!” in a combative tone.

“What?” the comic replied, confused.

The interrupter was slowly chewing candy and held an index finger up as if to say “Wait for it”. The comic then said “Oh yeah go ahead and finish chewing, we’ll all wait”, which got a big laugh.

When he finished chewing, the interrupter said “I just want to know how you define queer”.

The comic realized no answer would ever be satisfactory. He handled it by saying “We can do this after my set if you want”, and followed it up with “I can’t even define my own identity, how could I begin to do it for others?” and moved on. You’ll notice that in the original context, the comic never once said anything negative about queer people.

It goes to show that anything can be offensive if you try hard enough to be upset.

Afterparty

After the show we wanted to hang around and meet some of the comics. First thing we did was head downstairs to grab a beer. The bartender from earlier poured our drinks and let us know that they were on the house. It was awesome! After giving our thanks, we went back upstairs to chat with new friends.

Before the first sip could be taken, Dan C spilled his beer everywhere. The glass hit the ground with a thunderous clang and splashed Golden liquid on every object in sight. Tables, chairs, new friends -- nothing and no one was dry. If Dan had detonated a grenade in the glass, the blast radius wouldn’t have been bigger.

Spilling a beer as an adult is like dropping an ice cream cone as a child. It hurts. It really hurts. Strangers come together to mourn. People offer condolences. In terms of the worst things to drop, beer ranks number 2. Cell phones are number 1. Babies are number 3.

It stings doubly when the beer was free. That’s like slapping God in the face. It's the worst for the bartender. “Thanks for the free drink. I hope you enjoy staying late to give this place a proper scrubdown”. That'll teach her to be nice.

Until everything literally exploded in his face, Dan had been spitting game with a pretty lady. Now, he was soaked - his jeans especially. Without a clean pair to change into, he had to endure the most frigid, non-sexual walk of shame in recorded history. To top it all off, the internal temperature in the van was 23 degrees -- too cold to even take the pants off. He did what any responsible adult would do, and slept in the beer-battered jeans like a champion.

All in all, Portland was great. We headed next to Concord.