There was a time when I had serious thoughts of becoming a comedian. I worshipped comedians. I thought they were smart and funny. I was kind of smart and funny. So, why not try being a comedian?
I am not comfortable around people.
I’m do not take rejection in stride.
I do not enjoy staying up late,
Or loud, smoky places where the customers drink.
I dislike the idea of repeating my material.
I am not willing to go where the biggest laughs are – sex jokes, mean-spiritedness and stupidity.
I am no fan of constant travel.
I am unenthusiastic about a steady diet of crappy food.
I would not do well with shady club owners.
I get wrenching stomachaches before going on.
I am not “punch line” funny.
I have no “comeback” for hecklers, other than running away, or bursting into tears.
I am daunted by the arrangement where the reward for giving a great performance is to having to go out the next time and do it again.
It would eat me up to “kill” one night and “die” the next, doing exactly the same act.
to name just fourteen of the stresses and indignities associated with the job of being a comedian.
Which inevitably leads to this question:
What exactly was I thinking?