It was some sort of firehouse or community center—or maybe both—tucked away in Pennsylvania off the turnpike, where I was performing a one-nighter. It wasn’t a bar, but it was just as unorganized and chaotic. The show lineup was me and a magician.
When I arrived, I spotted our headshots proudly displayed on the wall. “Great,” I thought, “at least the show is being advertised!” Inside, I met a guy who looked like he might know what was going on. I asked, “Hey, have you seen the magician?”
He replied, “I am the magician.”
I looked back at the headshot, then back at him. Yikes. That man hadn’t updated his photo in at least two decades. I’ve never seen a headshot look less like the actual person.
We met the manager and were shown the “stage.” I use quotes because it wasn’t a real stage—it was one of those portable, snap-together dance floors. So technically, I guess it was a stage + portable floor = a porta-stage. Chairs and tables were scattered around it in what I’ll generously call an “arrangement.”
At least we had accommodations. On the third floor of the building, they
had a couple of basic rooms—bed, table, and (thankfully!) a TV. Small and bare. I thought, “ok Jan, you can do this.” I freshened up the best I could and headed down to the porta-stage to do my thing.
Just as I was being introduced, I discovered I wasn’t the only show in town with a porta-stage. Right above me, on the second floor, was square dance was starting—at the exact same time as my set. How did I know? Because their music was blasting through the ceiling and their dance floor doubled as my ceiling. Their shoes must’ve been steel-toed Clydesdale boots. The sound system up there was better too. It became a battle of the arts—and I was losing.
But thankfully, after about 20 minutes the square-dancing music
ceased, and the square dancers were done. But unthankfully the square dancers had to leave, and their closest exit was on my level, on the other side of my porta-stage. So across my porta-stage they went. Not behind it. Not around it. Across it. One by one, they clomped between me and the audience, not even trying to be quiet or subtle
I was new to comedy, and even newer to combat comedy. It was exhausting and easily one of my worst nights. The headliner did fine, mostly because he didn’t have to battle square dancers.
That night, I returned to my little room feeling defeated. I flopped onto the bed,
turned on the TV (mercifully, it worked), and there was Larry King interviewing Jay Leno about his book Leading with My Chin.
Larry asked Jay about getting through the hard times and how it felt to be successful now. I’ll never forget Jay’s response:
“If you stick with it long enough, comedy will pay you.”
I felt like he was talking directly to me. I drifted off to sleep thinking, I really hope you’re right, Jay—because I can’t keep doing gigs like this.
And you know what? He was right.
Comedy has paid me—not just in money, but
in experiences. I’ve performed in every state except Alaska, visited 30 national parks, and had the freedom to attend graduations, weddings, and family events without needing to ask for vacation time. There were plenty of rough gigs between that porta-stage and where I am now, but comedy did pay me in many ways.
Stick with something you love—whether it’s a hobby or a career—and you just might discover some unexpected payments along the way
Jan McInnis is a Keynote Speaker, Comedian, Comedy Writer, and Master of Ceremonies. She has written for Jay Leno’s Tonight Show monologue as well as many other people, places, and groups – radio, TV, syndicated cartoon strips, and even guests on the Jerry Springer show (her parents are proud). For 20+ years she’s traveled country as a keynote speaker and comedian sharing her unique and practical tips on what business leaders can learn from comedians (no, it’s not all about telling jokes). She can be reached at www.TheWorkLady.com, or Jan@TheWorkLady.com She’s also a GREAT Master of Ceremonies. Click here for her emcee site
Some of the stories in this newsletter are taken from Jan’s popular book:
Convention Comedian: Stories and Wisdom From Two Decades of Chicken Dinners and Comedy Clubs.
Great story Jan! I love hearing about your experiences :)