She curls an eyebrow my way. Oops, she did not like the judgment implied in that tone.
揟hey do. Most people are willing to do a lot of mildly uncomfortable things when it comes to furthering their ambitions.?
Touch?
My eyes clash with Meyer抯 from across the room, and I抦 transported back to months ago when we were working through the material that抯 in my current set. We stayed up for hours, him helping me work through a bit about the bleakness of Tinder, about how being in stand-up always hinders dating?
揥hy do you think it is, though, Meyer? For real. Why do I get ghosted when men find out I抦 in comedy??I asked him, genuinely wondering. Hazel抯 head laid in my lap, dozing softly.
揑抦 not sure. It seems clich? but I think men, especially the ones who want to think that they themselves are funny, are intimidated by funny women. Probably because they don抰 want to risk being source material.?
揥ell, how interesting. Men are afraid of women being funnier than them, and women are afraid of, oh, I don抰 know, being oppressed, beaten, raped, or killed by men. But look out! Funny chick here might follow you down an alley and make you chuckle without consent!?
揑 think you just found your punchline.?He smiled, a megawatt thing that deepened the creases around his eyes and brought my attention to the ones that bracketed his mouth. New ones that I抎 never noticed before. A laugh escaped.
揙h my god,?I said with unfiltered awe before I could even think to stop myself. And, immediately, the smile was gone. He didn抰 break eye contact, though. A muscle in his jaw rippled.
揂nyone who is pathetic enough to let you being funny梠r your career梘et in the way of being with you doesn抰 deserve you, Fee.?
Kara抯 words pluck at my brain in the present, and I remember, 揧ou said you had an idea??
She looks at her manager and Meyer, waving them over. 揑 do.?
38 MONTHS AGO
揃efore you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes. After that who cares? He抯 a mile away, and you抳e got his shoes.? Billy Connolly
MEYER
I抳e stood alone on a stage, sweating under blinding lights, talking about genitalia, politicians, and 憏our mom? in front of a thousand people before, and I still don抰 think I抳e ever been this nervous.
I wipe my palms on my jeans as I look around at a table full of seven-year-old girls staring blankly back at me. It抯 the first birthday party I抳e ever thrown for Hazel, and so far, I am patently not crushing it. 揑抦 going to go call and check on the pizzas.?I tell them, and I sign it as well as speak it, since her friend Olive is not Deaf.
I walk over to the bar where Lance is throwing me a sympathetic look. 揑 know, I know. I抦 improvising here,?I say.
揑 seem to recall you being a bit more entertaining when it came to improv.?He chuckles as I school my face into a baleful glare. 揧ou抮e welcome to stay as long as you need. Which doesn抰 look like it抣l be more than fifteen minutes anyway, but open mic doesn抰 start until eight,?he says.
揓ust like old times with the heckling, huh??I sigh. 揟hank you again. I didn抰 think I needed a contingency plan for rain in August.?
All Hazel wanted to do was have a few of her new school friends join her at the water park for her birthday. Simple enough. She抯 at a new school; an excellent school with a bunch of other Deaf students like her, along with many other multilingual kids who know ASL.
She was so excited to have enough friends to warrant a real celebration, and I wanted to make this perfect for her. I did the necessary prep work with the other moms, ensuring they all felt comfortable with their girls under my watch, and I reserved a cabana thing with pizza, cake, ice cream?Hazel wanted to make 慺avors?after attending another L.A. kid抯 birthday last year桰 know, I know, I am groaning at myself here, too. So, after the fever dream that was a foray into the land of Pinterest, we made bags for the girls that contained: sunscreen, goggles, mermaid printed hair ties, and a plethora of snacks that 揻it the theme.?Licorice pool noodles, shark gummies submerged in homemade blue jello cups, seaweed chips?Never did I think梑ack when I was in my early twenties and being passed a joint backstage at a Dave Chapelle show梩hat my life would one day involve squeezing melted chocolate onto a Nutter Butter to make it look like a flip flop, but alas, here we are. And most days I love it here.
But then a freak storm came through Los Angeles. A storm that has been crouching and pissing all over us for three days straight. The disappointment on Hazel抯 face when she woke up this morning gutted me. I launched into action mode, made calls to bowling alleys and the local indoor mini golf courses, came up completely empty. Seems it抯 the one day of the year that they抮e at capacity. I checked with our condo complex about reserving their activity center, but it抯 also booked. I even offered a Disneyland day in a fit of desperation, but Hazel抯 face crumpled.
揟oo many lines on a Saturday, Dad,?she抎 signed. 揂nd you hate Disneyland.?
揑 don抰 hate it. And today抯 your day, Hazel.?I signed back with as much forced levity as I could.
揑 just wanted to swim and go on the water slides with my friends. We抳e been talking about it all week.?
揇on抰 worry, birthday girl. We抮e going to have the best day. Let抯 go get your friends.?
Instead of giving her the best day, I am sinking in something that feels eerily similar to stage fright. I cannot think of what to do.
I抎 called Lance, the owner of the comedy club that I first started gigging at梬here my pre-writing comedy career was born梐nd asked if we could come here. I抳e got a pizza order and cupcakes on the way, but it抯 not like I can play music and give them a dance party.
揕ance. I am panicking here,?I plead.
Lance looks taken aback. 揗eyer, all I know is comedy, music, and drinks. Why don抰 you give them a little stand-up show or something??
揥ith what material, man??Everything I抳e written since Hazel was born has been for TV shows and scripts. My old material from my stand-up days is not appropriate, nor is it the stuff that a seven-year-old would consider the pinnacle of humor, anyway. Not to mention, any material I do have would have to be combed through and tweaked so that I could make it less 揌earing Funny?and more 揇eaf Funny.?
So much of stand-up is in the delivery and inflection, even when it抯 subtle. The dips and tones added to voices are what make a C level joke funnier. Take that away, and the jokes had better be sharp if they抮e going to be funny in ASL. Plus, the girls definitely wouldn抰 get （or care about） my nuanced take on the adult single world, which is what my writing and collaboration have been focused on lately.
I turn on the stool when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
揅an we open our favor bags and have the snacks now, Dad? Or do we have to wait until after pizza??Hazel asks.
揋o ahead, sweetheart. Pizza will be here soon.?
She smiles and nods, a good sport as always, but I don抰 miss the hint of sadness in her expression.
揊uck,?I hiss, before I remember myself, and Olive whips her head my way. Shit. 揝orry, Olive.?
揇on抰 worry. I won抰 tell my mom,?She says out loud.
The door to the club flies open. Bright gray light streams in and silhouettes a figure in the doorway, the sound of the pouring rain hits the room in a rush.
揇amn it, I thought I locked that.?Lance growls. 揓ones! The answer, for the millionth time, is NO!?he bellows.
The figure桱ones, presumably條ets the door slam closed behind her before she straightens and stomps over to us.