So, one of my friends from school is leaving Greenville after four (?) short months here. It’s hard to believe that anyone would want to leave this utopian paradise, but alas, she is moving on to greener, more interesting pastures. The next few segments are devoted to the wacky adventures we’ve had during her short time here.
Hole-In-The-Wall Comedy Isn’t Funny. Just Scary.
Chrissy (that’s my friend’s name by the way) called me up one night and asked me if I wanted to go this comedy show. I, having nothing to do, responded with an enthusiastic, “Yes!” So, amped up and ready for a stellar night of laughs, we head out to find this place. Now mind you, we’ve both lived in Atlanta and attended a comedy club before. In our minds we’re think it can’t be much different than our previous experience, maybe a little smaller, but still just as fun. Boy, were we wrong.
First off, we end up passing the place like twice, because it’s not actually its own building. It’s more like the back room of another building. A building that advertises fried chicken and laundry, so you can understand our confusion. I (being the one driving) finally get up the nerve to turn into said establishment to investigate. We roll down a side alley an encounter a parking attendant. Rolling down my window, I ask, “Is this where such-and-such Comedy Show is located?”
“Just park right there, ” the attendant replies.
“Okay, but is this the right place?”
“Is this the right place for such-and-such Comedy?”
“Oh yea, just park right there, man.”
At this point, we should have just made a u-turn and high-tailed it out of there, but Chrissy, being the optimist that she is convinces me to park. We hop out to pay the attendant, but he’s mysteriously disappeared. I mean can’t find the dude anywhere. And this is a problem, because we still don’t know where we’re going. Thankfully, two tispy ladies stumble out of a back door. Chrissy asks them if that’s the entrance to the comedy club. The girls snicker to each other and tell us, “Yea, that’s it.”
The door is nothing special. Just your unassuming back door with a bolt lock. There’s no bouncer outside, just some faded writing advertising the name of a bar which I can’t read. Immediately upon opening the door, we’re hit with a wave of heat, body funk and cigarette smoke. Chrissy turns to me, shrugs and charges ahead. The first room is dimly lit with a pool table and low cement ceiling. Through the haze of smoke, we are barely able to make out the shapes of people standing along the walls. We also can hear a comedian telling a joke over a bad PA system, but can’t see him. We venture further into a second room that is jam packed with folks standing. The light is little better and so is the sound, but not by much. From here, we can tell that there is another room. Peering over heads, we try to catch a glimpse of the comedian telling this joke that we’ve finally figured out is about masturbation. With no luck, we retreat to find another entrance into the main room.
The second entrance proves to be a little bit easier to navigate and we end up in the main room by the bar behind a gob of people sitting in folding chairs. There is a small stage up front with a middle-age guy and a microphone. He wraps up his masturbation joke which elicits a weak applause. By this time, Chrissy and I are both starting to sweat, because it is hot as hell inside this place. We determine that there is no A/C, just stifling air being blown around by a small battalion of box fans. Again, Chrissy and I turn to each other with a look that says, “WTF is this?!”
But, we’re still trying to make the best of it. We saddle up to bar and wait to be served. And, out of the corner of my eye, I see what will become the last straw for me. Behind the bar, is a porcelain, pedestal bathroom sink. A bathroom sink behind a public bar! I was mortified. All I could think was that someone was about to serve me drink from a bathroom probably using toilet water. In fact, I kept looking around for a toilet. It may sound paranoid, but I couldn’t take it. Chrissy, who hadn’t noticed the sink turns to me. I point to the sink, she laughs, and I mouth, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
On our way out, we get harassed about why we’re leaving so early by some random lady. At first, we’re thinking she’s a promoter, but no. It’s just some random lady who’s just around. We make up some random excuse about getting home to check on the kids who’ve had emergency surgery and back away towards the car. On our way out, guess who we see: the parking attendant. Guess he was there the whole time, just invisible.