Hi again. Remember me? I’m the blogger who blogs whenever I feel like it. Not consistently, just when ever I want. By doing so, I also save you from reading about my mornings watching “The View,” and my hard ships waiting tables. You’ll thank me someday. But today, I have to write. I just have to. As comedians, we know that funny shit doesn’t happen every day. Sometimes you have to dig for it. Somedays, you don’t.
I was getting off shift from my serving job. A moment I love. Especially since I was “released” at 9:15pm. That’s pretty early in the serving world. I have two birthday parties I want to attend. One, is my new agent, Sarah’s. A quality chick, who I have not spent much time with. As much as I would love to go home, and watch the season finale of 24 (it’s been in my PVR for a month-it’s not going anywhere,) I feel some beers at Sarah’s birthday party will be more exciting. I head for Osgoode Station.
Every time I ride the subway, whether I’m in a rush, or not, I get this uncontrollable urge to run the second I enter the subway. It doesn’t matter if I can hear the train coming or not- I just run. The thought of standing around waiting for a train, or anything for that matter, drives me crazy. In fact, two weeks ago I walked home from a Jay’s game, just because the subway was down. I don’t splurge on cabs when the sun is still out. But I do buy street meat for the walk home.
I enter the station at the Four Seasons entrance. At Osgoode Station, I feel like this is the nicest entrance. I even press the big round buttons on the wall that automatically open the doors, as I walk in. Not for me, but for the people behind me. As I do so, I hear the train. I sprint. I run, and I run fast. I swipe my TTC card, showing to bystanders that I am NO tourist. As I hear the tones of the subways car opening, I run faster, and note that the escalator is working in my favour. As the second set of tones pipe up, I know the train doors are about to close. I run, and I just barely make it in. A small triumph for the day, but I’ll take it. I find a seat(another triumph) and just as I’m about to start reading my book, a guy approaches me.
“Wow, that was pretty amaizing!” Says Bill, or Ted, or somebody on an Excellent Adventure.
“Thanks,” I say, as I bust out my book.
“I’m recruiting for an all girls Volleyball team, and by Volleyball, I mean Roller-derby, and by Roller-derby and mean tennis- and by tennis, I mean I know nothing about sports- you would be perfect. It’s clear you can run,” he says. He’s scrawny, not visably drunk, but definitely eager.
“Well, I don’t really have a lot of spare time,” I say. Obviously. You guys know that, otherwise I’d blog more. I pull out my ipod.
“Wow! You have an ipod and a book. Cool! ” Yes, I can read and listen to Lily Allen at the same time. One of my two talents. As I try to ignore him, he keeps talking.
“What’s your name?”
“Christina.” I’ve never been good with fake names.
“I’m ——–.” I could write it, but I’m too nerdy. I protect the innocent… or the weird. He keeps speaking-shocking, I know.
“What do you do that keeps you so busy? You must have a controlling boyfriend that you’re running home to?” I love that he asks this, cuz he is giving me an opening to say “yes, I have a boyfriend. Go home to Plenty of Fish, or EHarmony.” Of course, I don’t really say that-I’m too nice.
“No, actually, my boyfriend is quite nice.”
“Oh, well, I’m a comedian,” he says. This is when I perk up. He’s a comedian? Are times as an open mic-er so bad these days, you try to make random chicks on the subway laugh? He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with- and I’m glad. Sure it’s sad he doesn’t know who I am-nobody does. But I still believe I’m slightly ahead of him in the game.
“Oh, you’re a comedian?” I ask. “Where do you perform?”
“Yuk Yuk’s, Absolute… all over.”
I start to giggle. I can’t help it. Finally I have to let him in on what I do.
“Well, actually I work for Yuk Yuk’s. I’m actually on my way to Sarah’s birthday party right now. Do you know Sarah?”
“Umm… no…I know Jessica…” He says, getting nervous.
“I know Jess. Cool chick, shoulder length dark hair, tattoos, doesn’t like Celine Dion… that Jess?” Okay, I know that’s way too many details about Jess, but you get the picture. I know Jess.
“Ummm… No, I know Jessica the waitress at Yuk Yuks.”
At this point, he starts to lose all confidence. Heaven forbid that approaching a random girl on the subway, and claiming you’re a stand up comic, should come back and bite you in the ass.
“Well, this is awkward now…” he says. The only honest thing he’s said between Osgoode and Museum Station. At St. George Station, we both get off.
“Are you going to Sarah’s birthday party too?” I say. We walk down the stairs to the Bloor Line.
“It’ll be mostly comics there. You must know some of them.”
Is that bitchy? I didn’t mean to seem bitchy, but if this guy is really a comedian, even if it’s one I’ve never heard of before, that uses the TTC as a form of practicing crowd work, he could certainly drop by.
“Uh, well I know some comics… um… Gilson Lubin..” I pipe in, right away.
“I love Gilson! He’s great.” Bill/Ted is more terrified that I recognize his reference.
“And Kenny Robinson….” he continues.
“I love Kenny too!” I say. I know you’re probably thinking this guy is black, but he’s not. He’s as white as my inner upper thigh. And I’m only pointing that out because I want you to know that most of Kenny and Gilson’s fans are NOT this tacky.
Not much else happens between me and random “comedian” after this. I think I’ve shocked him by being a comedian. Later in the night, I ran into Rodney Ramsey(whom I mentioned in the last blog- a fantastic comic/buddy) and I relay the story to him. As it happens, Gilson was out tonight too.
“Tell the story, but make sure you drop the name of the “comic” at the end.” – Rodney.
Tons of laughing happened tonight. Most of it was off stage. That’s the best part about being a comic: Hanging out with comics. We bond just like any other co-workers. And I haven’t even started on my comedian friend Claire and her “Manbatical”(check for blog links on my Facebook page.)
So next time I enter a subway station, I may not run for the train. Like Gwyneth Paltrow in “Sliding Doors,” my fate is my fate. I have many destinies, but only one can transgress.
PS If you have seen that movie, just note that I prefer myself with long hair. I hope that doesn’t Fuck up my life.