Sunday 4 March 2012

Red shoes


‘We need an act for tonight’ was the tweet. I responded with a quick ‘I’m nearby, I can pop in.’ I wasn’t nearby, I was an hour and a half a way but you never know, this could lead to work, a big time agent might be in the room or a plane might fall into my house and, because I was proactive, I will be allowed to live. I caught the early train giving myself time to enter the gig with a, 'I was just over there' vibe. The room was in a WalkAbout pub that was made for vomit. Comedy came second to bile in this place but that’s ok, I thought, the audience will get me because tonight I feel gettable. I took off my brown boots and popped on my red shoes, the funny ones that make me look like I’m going places. I started talking to the guy I was sharing the bracket with. We were both given ten minutes. He was young, hung over and told me he’d just signed with a big agent. I’m thirty-five, wearing read shoes and have just signed with Boots to get a discount card.  I then discover that the night is run by a promoter who already hires me. Now I’m doing a try out spot for a guy who I’ve already tried out for. Curse you twitter. Lady Wife was right, you’re a vacuous whore. It became apparent that I was wasting my time and, if the gig went poorly, shooting myself in the foot.  ‘Ladies and gentlemen please welcome to the stage your first act for this second bracket Patrick Morris’. The kid was slick, confident, genuine and funny.  ‘Now keep that round of applause going for Adam Vincent.’ I was disjointed, dark, and on this occasion, a testament to mediocrity. I had just received a kick in the pants from a star of the future. At least I hope he is because then it makes my so-so gig more glorious.
On the tube on the way home I hunched over, it’s my posture of choice after an average performance. Briefly, my mind pressed pause on the replay of my previous efforts, allowing me time to discover that I was still wearing my red shoes. My brown boots! I jumped off the tube, ran down the stairs, lunged to the other platform, waiting two minutes for my carriage (a long lunge), said goodbye to some small talk, ran up some more stairs, tried not to cry, negotiated with a bouncer, dashed down some stairs, rekindled my 'I was just over there' vibe, only to see my boots being thrown about the room by the headliner, a man older than myself playing a character older than himself, which was fitting as he seemed close to death. The snippet I caught included no laughs and a needy tension that I’m not ashamed to say made me feel good.  It’s his own fault, had he been throwing my red shoes about people would’ve been in fits, the reds shoes are rarely mediocre twice in a row. I retrieved my boots, found a booth and popped them on like a school kid who had just been dacked. As I tied my laces a man came up and wanted to know where I am gigging next. 'You were funny. I really like your stuff' he said. It’s a fucking roller coaster people.  

I have other comedy stories that I only post on my website www.adamvincent.com if you're interested.