Mic 46 Oh Brother Here I am

It’s Friday night, 9:00 PM, and I am at the Brothers Lounge. This is a booked show, but a comedian dropped, so they are bucket pulling a couple of 5-minute spots for other comedians. I toss my name in the bucket.

Let’s unpack this.  I was not a choice to be booked, today.  I came as a guest to support my fellow comedians and laugh.  I was given the option to write my name on a small piece of paper and possibly be drawn to do a 5-minute set.  Like the reaping.

The evening was wearing on.  I enjoyed the show, and it was fun to watch some of the comic pulled do a quick set.  But I was tired, and I had closed my tab and mentally had my keys out and coat on when the co-hots, Jimmy, tells me I am next.

Jimmy hosts his own show, and co-hosts others.  He is a bearded, super happy, young man and he was giving me Santa’s elf vibe as he delivered the news.  

I have been performing open mics with this crowd since mic 3 or 4. The comedian faces in the room are the same. They are friendly, welcoming, and supportive.

They are also comedians, so they are judgmental, condescending, opinionated idiots. Some at tables, but most hulled-up in the darkest back corner of the bar.

I say this in the nicest court jester kind of way.  They have their arms crossed, they are making mental tags where I missed them, they are writing material or just scrolling insta hoping they get pulled before their buzz wears off.

I have felt very off-kilter when the audience is just comedians. They look at me as new on the scene. As if 35 years of being on stages and in front of people, commanding attention and driving narratives, counted for nothing.

I let the “sprung for a cage” narrative follow me in the worst possible way. I was not a divorcée having a crisis, nor a housewife who needed a voice, or an empty nester whose therapist suggested she get a hobby.

Yes, I roll my eyes at your dick jokes and I get a little uncomfortable with some of the bathroom details you share but resting Auntie face is really not me.

I have been standing center stage since birth in 1968, and somehow, I had forgotten that.

I think when you take a class or start something newish, you feel like you should be a beginner for a while. Also, my politeness doesn’t allow me to boast.

I need you to know my friends and family will not agree with that last statement.

I have declared a day for myself. February 24 is not just my birthday – — it is the day I was gifted to the world.

I throw self-absorbed birthday parties. I put out a gift list, register, cook and entertain for 60-100 people, and it’s not an easy list to get on.

I speak in decrees, and I frequently remind people that I am, in fact, The Missy Hayes.

As if it carries mobster, presidential, royal weight.

This has been tucked away since I started this comedy thing.

Maybe because everyone is half my age.

Maybe because I felt out of shape, physically and mentally, to be sparring with peers on politics, trends, and the general malice of the world.

Maybe I am looking for a worthy opponent.

I am not sure, but whatever it was, the fog started to lift at the Brothers. I was so sure I wasn’t going, I stopped running notes in my head.

I took the stage and the mic and started with sourdough and tested some Gen X material.

I do come from the generation who drank from a hose

so I am a white suburban person with some street cred.

I bought my first pack of Marlboro reds when I was 10.

I had a note.

It was the 70s, if you got back in that car without the right smokes and exact change, you brought dishonor to your household..

It was a good five minutes.

I may be in shape -  I just wasn’t flexing the right muscles.

I mean, goddammit – I’m Missy Hayes!