Practicing My Story, Part 4 (Performing My Story)

by Mike Kane

Walking into Town the night of the Open Mic, I already knew that I was performing first.  Stephanie Girabaldi, the show’s host, had called me the night before and asked how I would feel about it.

How would I feel?  I would feel terrible.  I would feel like you had no faith in my story and you were putting me up first in order to get my story out of the way.  That’s how I would feel.

On the flip side, I’m a huge fan of going first.  When I don’t go first, I don’t even hear the other stories because my brain is busy telling me another story.  It’s the tale of a pathetic guy who’s about to go up next to perform a story that no one cares about and won’t find funny and ends in dead silence, save for a person clearing his throat in the very back of the joint.

So, now that I know when I’m going on, I can focus on the hell that is the hours leading up to the show.   I took minutes for the blog, and here they are:

6:15 – I show up at Town.   Doors open at 6:30.  Why am I here so early?  Because I’m a freak.

6:30 – They finally let us in.  My stomach is turning and I decide it best not to have a drink until after I perform.

6:32 – I try out the first of five seats.  This first one is the bench off to the left of the stage. But it just won’t do.

6:34 – I go to the bar for a drink. Of beer.  So much for not drinking.

6:36-6:38 – Take a seat in a chair in the middle of the floor.  I shift around in it.  Really let my ass give it a once-over.  But it’s not right.

6:37-6:40 – Try another table – oh, I’ll spare you the details of my game of Musical Neurotic Chairs.

6:50 – I’m in the seat I will occupy for the night. Amy Saidman, the Artistic Executive Director comes up.  She’s relaxed and ready to have a good time tonight.  I hate her for that.  I love you, Amy, but don’t smile at me before I perform.  And don’t tell me I’m going to do great.  We all know I won’t.

6:57 – I feel like I have to go to the bathroom but the sheer physics don’t add up as I haven’t eaten all day.

7:21 – Hey, more beer.

7:28 – The place is completely filled.  I’m not sure what “capacity” is for this place, but it’s time for me to pray to God to make me a bird so I can fly far..far, far away from here.

7:45 – I’m half-buzzed on beer, half-buzzed on fear, half-buzzed on – wait, how may halves in a whole?

7:52 – I’ve now seen everyone that is going to perform tonight.  Why do they look so calm?  Why aren’t they pacing around like me?  They’re all going to do great and I’m going to suck so hard.

7:54 – I feel like my tongue is sweating.

7:58 – Stephanie is adjusting the microphone.  She’s getting ready to talk…

7:59 – Throat, have you met my friend bile?

8:03 – Stephanie is talking.  She’s killing.  People are laughing… either at her story, or at my haircut. No, they can’t see me.  It must be her.

8:08 – “Are you guys ready to bring up our first storyteller?”  NOOOOOOOOO!!!

I stand up from my table and take a few steps towards the stage while she continues to playfully banter back and forth with the crowd.  She asks them if they have been reading the Speakeasy blog.  Surprisingly, there are a few hoots and hollers.  Then I hear my name and people clap during my introduction.

And I take my place in that old, familiar spot, behind the microphone, looking out over the crowd, all of whom are looking back at me.  They’re waiting for me to talk and I’m not nervous anymore.

I’m the opposite; I’m still.

Before long, I’m halfway through the story.  It’s going well.  There are a few hiccups, but I’m getting through it.

And what seems like way too fast, I’m now pausing just before the last line of my story.  To the audience, it may seem like a pause for dramatic effect.  But it’s not. I’m reveling in these last few seconds up here.  I love it and I never want it to end.

And just like that, I’m climbing back off the stage, already longing for the next performance, and the hell I put myself through to get here.