Tough Crowd

"I wouldn't give your troubles to a monkey on a rock.”--David Letterman

Now that was a bad set.

Over the years, I’ve been told many times that I’m funny, with several people even suggesting that I should give stand-up comedy a try.

I never pursed the comedy route, though, favoring fiction over joke-telling. I’ve gone to a few comedy clubs, and I find them a bit tiresome after a while, where even laughter becomes a chore.

And let’s be honest, fear is also a factor here because I dread the idea of facing a roomful of heckling drunks.

I had a shrink who once gave a blunt assessment as to why I didn’t take the stage.

“You’d be good at it,” he said.

That observation hit a nerve, which, of course, is what I was paying the guy for.

I do have a long and miserable history of self-sabotage, but I have also suffered from that most malicious malady known as the Disease to Please, where I crack jokes hoping—usually in vain—that people will like me.

I also kid around with my friends because they’re my friends, and the idea of putting together material and performing in clubs before strangers just doesn’t appeal to me.

But in spite of all this, I made my comedy debut on Saturday night.

Not in the real world, of course, but in a shrieking, 20-megaton, oh-dear-God-please-make-it-stop nightmare that me had shuddering under my blankets until sunrise.

A little background: My family had a great Thanksgiving holiday for which I am incredibly grateful.

Stupid Human Tricks

Unfortunately, on Tuesday I came down with a hideous cold that rocked me physically and emotionally.

I am a very bad patient and when I’m sidelined with illness, my inner demons grab the wheel of my subconscious and remind me how I’ve fallen far short of my dreams and how it’s all my fault.

I cleared my calendar, took a few sick days, and did a lot of napping. Last night I hit the sack early looking to get the sleep I so desperately needed and while I did get some shuteye, rest was not on the menu.

No, I hallucinated my way onto the stage of a comedy club where I was about to do my act before a packed room that included my family and--sitting in the front row--David Letterman.

I was a huge Letterman fan when he was on the air, but he retired 10 years ago, and he’s only made sporadic appearances on TV ever since.

I can’t remember the last time I even thought about the guy, so what the hell was he doing in my dream comedy road show?

I do watch (too many) short comedy routines on YouTube, but these feature young comedians, so the Late Show legend doesn’t show up in the feed.

Whatever the reason, he was there waiting for me to start. And so, I launched into my act.

The first joke had something to do with current affairs. I don’t recall the particular news item, but halfway through the bit I realized that I had gotten my facts wrong, thus nuking the punch line straight to Hell.

I stood there for a moment, broiling in my brain blowout, while Letterman shook his head in disgust.

And I did the only thing I could do at a time like this: I turned and ran off the stage.

The next thing I know, I’m sitting in a crowded McDonald’s woofing down a cheeseburger—something I never do—and wondering how I could ever face my family after such a humiliating display.

I'm Hatin' It

Just then the cashier called out “Robert” and I stood up, while a guy on the other side of the room, presumably named Robert as well, got out of his seat.

The cashier was offering us a big bin of pancakes and waffles, more than I could or a whole boatload of Roberts could ever eat. I shook my head in the negative, as did my counterpart.

I woke up and for what seemed like a torturously long time I was convinced the Letterman fiasco had been real—until I realized it had never happened and a wave of relief wash over me as thanked God again and again.

So, what does this all mean--other than the fact that I'm in dire need of medication?

I think Letterman represents a father figure, since he is an older man whom I greatly admire.

The comedy flub is clearly me resurrecting my wicked ways of self sabotage, and the junk food binge is a result of being ill, since I can’t go to the gym and my diet has gone south, along with my attitude.

The dueling Roberts indicates two sides of my psyche, which calls to mind Carl Jung’s shadow concept---the unconscious aspects of the personality that a person rejects or represses, often due to shame, societal pressure, or trauma.

I’m slowly feeling better and I’m really hoping to put this cold behind me as soon as possible.

I’ll try to get touch with my shadow self and perhaps relief myself of some of these burdensome emotions and behaviors.

But if we go to McDonald’s, he'll have to get his own pancakes.