At first I got a lot of, “You going up?” and I said yes, and they would smile. Comedy people ask, “You going up?” the way Marines ask if you’re storming the beach. I am feeling a little more a part of the scene.

Another comic, also smoking, told us this room used to be packed with comedians who came in from all over. This room was a rite of passage. "Don't judge it by tonight," he said. "Just remember you did a few minutes here—and come back."

The room was fairly empty when I went up. I bet ten people walked out just as I was welcomed to the stage. No, seriously, they opened the door in this tiny teacup of a room and fricking walked out when my name was called. Tell me how you don’t take that personally? 

Other comedians from my class had goaded me into coming. They had been before and seemed to know people, too. I can honestly say I have never felt like an outsider anywhere, anytime, in my whole life. There were cliques here. I spotted them immediately. And I was not part of any of them. I have never not been part of them.

We were assigned a five-minute set we would be working on for the next couple of weeks and then performing at a graduation show. Bill suggested thinking of a funny story or situation that could inspire a set. I immediately thought of my snappy crotch.