Everybody Poops & Everybody Bombs
We have more in common than we're willing to talk about
You’d think a 3 hour drive would be long enough to mentally prepare for how a stand-up show could go wrong, but it wasn’t. I could have driven to Argentina and still not been prepared.
There had been some warning signs along the way.
Seth had gotten us the gig. A small town Texas church wanted to put on an an event after the local high school football game, giving all the kids somewhere to go and not get in too much trouble. There’d be food, games, give aways, and at the end of everything, entertainment. That was us. The youth pastor explained it all to Seth who relayed it to me.
Usually when someone wants to book a comedian they spend the first phone call paying up their event, giving all their favorite details, trying to inspire some excitement for the event they want to be a part of. Not this guy.
“I don’t really like comedy but I guess my students will have fun.” That’s what he said. To Seth. In their first phone call. And I’m still haunted by it to this day.
You don’t like comedy? All comedy? Not even a knock knock joke or I Love Lucy? Do you hate laughter? Joy? You find fun annoying? How? You’re saying one of the most basic and fundamental parts of being alive is not really your thing? That’s like saying I’m not really into sitting down but I guess I’ll get chairs for all the students. What? What duo you have against sitting? It’s for everyone!
And why say that to us?! While hiring us? I do not respect what you do but I hope my students like it. Is this how birthday party clowns feel? Would you hire a chef and say I’m not into Italian food, but I’m doing this for other people. [Ok, wait. Maybe I would say that last one.]
The youth pastor also had some rules for our performance.
“No bathroom humor.” UH OH! I thought, There goes half of my material.
This is why I don’t like the phrase “family friendly comedy.” Whose family are you talking about? There are things that my family joked about at the dinner table that would not fly in other homes. The bathroom is one of those topics.
I get it. It’s gross. It’s childish. It’s easy and obvious. BUT IT’S ALSO SO MUCH MORE!
It’s a short cut to intimacy, your honor! If you want a group of people to bond, get someone to share an embarrassing story about pooping their pants. Walls will come down and community will form!
Going to the bathroom is the thing we do the most and talk about the least. Isn’t that weird? There are so few things we as humans do every single day from the moment we are born till the moment we die. Eating, sleeping, breathing, and…. It’s one of the few things that truly unites us! It doesn’t matter your age, race, religion, gender, or economic status. Everybody poops.
We want to pretend we don’t. Part of how we designed society is to make it as easy as possible to not think about all the gross parts of being a human being.
But some times, things don’t go according to plan. When that happens, you’re confronted by how weird and embarrassing it is to be a human, WHILE ALSO BEING TOTALLY ISOLATED FROM THE REST OF THE WORLD. You’re on your own in there. No one else knows what really happened. It’s strange and embarrassing and lonely. And sometimes you panic and make ridiculous decisions because you’re too irresponsible for how lactose intolerant you are.
Then you’re expected to walk back in to polite society with a Poker Face, pretending like nothing happened and everything’s fine and you’re not the reason a janitor is about to quit their job.
That’s why I think there’s such a fun electricity in the room when people are comfortable enough to share that kind of embarrassing story. There’s a joy and relief when you unite around something that feels so isolating.
At least that’s my defense for that material now. Back then I probably would have just said “but farts are funny, your honor.” It was a good thing Seth was talking to the youth pastor and not me.
But that wasn’t all he said we weren’t allowed to joke about.
“No zombie humor either.” What? I was at a loss. Seth thought he meant he didn’t want any gore or violence. What does he think stand-up comedy is?! Did he imagine me doing crowd work while Seth pulled my small intestine out of my belly button? No wonder he doesn’t like comedy!
I wish I could say it was the best show we ever did. Like, we kill so hard the high school has to cancel classes on Monday because everyone laughed too hard and no has a voice. We end up in the newspaper and with a key to the city. The youth pastor hugs us with tears in his eyes as he tells us he finally understands comedy and we somehow saved his marriage and he’ll never forget us.
Instead, we bombed. We bombed so hard. I’ve never bombed that hard. You know the classic image of an old timey crowd throwing rotten tomatoes at performers? That’s what it felt like. But these were invisible emotional tomatoes.
The group was so rowdy. No duh. They just spent most of the night hyped up at a football game and then ran around a church parking lot for a couple hours before being ushered into the sanctuary with no explanation.
Our opening act was a couple youth leaders trowing out free t-shirts from the stage. And you know what? They killed. Everyone loved them. They could have kept going for the rest of the hour and no one would have been disappointed.
We were a disappointment. And they made it clear immediately. They yelled, screamed, booed, and threw stuff at us for half an hour.
All the adults working the event lined the back wall of the room, communicating with their body language that we were on our own up there. All that mattered to them was that the kids stayed in the room. It didn’t matter that we were dying, this was about killing time until families showed up for pick up.
Dying on stage is incredibly isolating. You’re all alone up there, desperately trying for some connection with the audience, but all you get from the sea of faces is refection.
It feels like:
Comedian: Here’s something I think is funny…
Audience: WELL YOU’RE WRONG AND TERRIBLE AND WE HATE YOU!
Comedian: What about this? Is this funny?
AUDIENCE: BOOO! GIVE US BARABUS!
Part of getting started as a comedian is getting used to dying on stage. If you can survive it, it makes you stronger. If you live through that terrible feeling on stage, nothing will stop you.
The difference between a pro and amateur comedian is not one bombs and one doesn’t. Everyone bombs. The legends still have bad nights. It’s about how you handle it while it’s happening.
I did not feel like a professional back then. I felt like the victim of psychological torture.
And then there was the 3 hour drive back home that night. Usually I was in the car by myself after bd shows. It gave me the time to question every life choice I ever made, analyze all my mistakes, and relive all the worst moments from the show.
But with Seth in the car with me, I couldn’t stay trapped in my mind the whole time. So we talked. And talked. Time passed. And we started joking. And laughing. We laughed at how bad the show went, about how awful we felt, and about how much everyone hated it.
We laughed louder. More and more. We joked about all the missed opportunities for zombie humor.
That was the only thing that eased the pain. It was relief to have someone who went through the same awful experience you just did. Their laugh reassures you that you’re not crazy. That really was as ridiculous as you thought it was.
You’re not alone.
Everybody poops.
Don’t forget to sign up! Next Thursday! Free! Sign up ahead of time and you’ll be able to rewatch it after it airs.
Love you like a neighbor,
Taylor Johnson