1/30/2025
The Heckler - Zachariah WendroffThe big sign on the comedy club said Locals Only but only the Loc and the O were lit up by their bright red fluorescent bulbs. The rest of the lights were shattered by vandals. Accordingly, the bar went by “The Loco” to the city residents which the sign gave passage to.
The Loco was painted with a silence broken by the front door’s creaking open and slamming shut. Joey came off the street ready to hit the stage. Inside, at the bar, Max buried his head in his hands while a sweating cocktail stood guard beside him. “What’s the matter with you?” said Joey. He asked the bartender what happened and she shrugged. Joey placed his hand on Max’s back and Max snapped awake. “There’s a monster in there,” said Max. “Were you having a nightmare?” said Joey. “No, well yeah, but seriously. In the room right now there’s a heckler,” Max said. “One of the worst- no, the worst I’ve ever seen.” “Some people just can’t handle not being the center of attention,” said Joey. “What did he say?” “He didn’t say anything,” said Max. “Well then how did he heckle you?” said Joey. “With his eyes, his grin, his laughter.” “You got heckled by someone laughing at your jokes?” “No,” said Max, “he was laughing at me. At all the wrong times. It threw off my rhythm.” Joey laughed. This was his first week as a regular at the club. He went backstage to prepare for his set. The greenroom was colder than usual. He went out to the bar to ask the bartender to adjust the air conditioner. The manager was talking with her. “-guy wants the greenroom to be an ice box. You know what that’ll do to the electric bill?” said the manager. “Well the club’s been packed so I think you’ll be okay,” said the bartender. When the manager left, after giving Joey a questioning look, the bartender filled Joey in on the road comic who’d come from out of state for a weekend residency at the club. He was a small time act but bigger than any hometown heroes on the club’s roster so they were doing somersaults to make him happy. “Why’s he want the greenroom so cold?” “I told boss it was a typo on the rider but the guy was back there before he went up and didn’t say anything. Maybe he’s a vampire.” The road comic came to the bar. The manager went out to see him. “Great show. Great show,” said the manager. “You’ve got a gift.” “You’ve got a heckler, buddy,” said the road comic. “Not going to be a great show until he’s booted.” “Oh yes? Who is it? We will see him out before the late show,” said the manager. “Front row, black turtleneck,” the road comic said. “Oh dear, are you sure it was him?” “Sure I’m sure,” said the road comic. “He responded to every joke I told like we were sharing a campfire. I couldn’t even get a punchline out without backtracking.” “Right, of course. Well, you see. That’s Tommy. He’s a regular, usually on his best behavior, bit of a drinker–and has the bar tab to prove it–and is good friends- best friends! with the owner.” “Right. Of course.” And the road comic took off to his icy den. “You heard that Max?” said Joey. “That road comic had trouble with the heckler too. Some pro right?” Max still didn’t budge. He was frozen in defeat. Joey went back to the greenroom to get ready for his set. “I’m outta here,” the road comic said to Joey. “I thought you were here all weekend,” said Joey. “Chalk it up to creative differences. I’m trying to be creative and the management is indifferent.” “Crowds here are notoriously tough,” Joey said before realizing that it would offend any comic to blame the crowd on his behalf. “Not the crowd. You’re going up tonight? Good luck kid,” said the road comic. Joey was halfway through his set, forgetting about the alleged disturbances when it finally happened. He had just finished a chunk on moving to Miami and was transitioning to some material on his Colombian girlfriend. “What’s her name?” Tommy the turtleneck said. “Pablo Escobarbie,” said Joey. The crowd loved it. The heckler had played right into Joey’s act. “What’s your name?” “Real. Unlike your girlfriend. Real bored.” Joey didn’t expect such an amateurish retort or that it would send the crowd into a fit. And now that crowd was against him, partnered up with one of their own. What now, funny guy? He tried to move onto the next joke. It bombed. The elephant in the room needed to be hunted. But not that night. Tonight the bad guy won. Max and Joey arranged a meeting with the manager. They had a plan involving warnings, strikes, and liquor limits, and were flatly rejected a minute into their request. The road comic knew better than to try to fight management on matters of immediate profit and personal relationships. The long term of a comedy club was the next show and the night’s till. People don’t get into the comedy business for the comedians. They do it as a themed bar. Perhaps their last project was a sailor’s tavern or Irish pub. Now let’s try a joke lounge! “That heckler makes us money,” said the manager. “You two with your free drinks, and Joey especially now that you don’t bring anyone in, you two lose us money. It’s simple economics.” “People aren’t going to come and they definitely aren’t going to stay if he keeps ruining the shows,” said Max. “What? It sounds like he is the show. They’re laughing aren’t they? I should hire him and fire you both.” “You can’t really fire me, unless you want to make me a regular first,” said Max. The two comics left for a table in the barroom. It was dark with small table lights at each booth. The pleather seatbacks were ripped and burnt. Only the glow of the muted television set above the bar moved with life. “We need a plan,” said Joey. “We could slash his tires,” said Max. “Or report him to the cops.” “Temporary solutions at best,” said Joey, “not to mention criminal.” “We could ask Randall,” said Max. “He’s on the road,” said Joey. “And I don’t want him thinking I’m having any trouble here since he got me the gig. But he would know just what to do.” “What about the road comic. Has he left yet?” “I think he’s still at the club’s apartment. But he had just as much a problem as we did.” “We don’t know that,” said Max. “Never saw them interact. He just didn’t like him at his show.” “We’ll go over there and have him out for dinner then.” At the diner the three found a table. It was busy in the fluorescent restaurant. Loud chatter was exchanged at each table so they could be heard over the noise they were contributing to. “The question is ‘who is in control?’,” said the road comic. “You can never give up control to the audience. We are supplied with lights, stage, and microphone to try to keep control in our hands but there are more of them than there are of us. And they can pick their moment of attack. Waiting for an opening. This guy even knows our acts and can plan ahead, while we are forced to think on our feet.” “Sounds like we are doomed,” said Max. “You think he’s planning ahead? He doesn’t exactly comeback with cleanly written jokes. It’s all a little… carnal… what he does.” “And that’s what the audience responds to. They want a live show,” said the road comic. “What if we practice, play eachother’s foil and wargame all the possible scenarios,” Joey said. “Or better yet, why don’t we sit in on each other's act and give each other some canned quips we’ve written responses to,” said Max. “That’s hack. The audience will see right through it. Back in my day, we used to take a guy like that into the greenroom and-” “Smash his face in?” said Max. “Give him concrete slippers?” said Joey. “Beg him to stop,” said the road comic. “Oh,” Max said. “We should just ask him nicely to stop?” “That might work,” said Joey. “But we might as well figure this out so we’re ready for any disturbances in the future.” Joey cut into his dinner pancake and warm syrup mixed with melted butter poured over the edge of the stack. “So we need something,” Max said. “That puts us in control, feels spontaneous, can come up at any time in our sets, and will work in any case. Sounds like a tough job. Maybe we should try construction work. Better benefits.” “That’s it!” said Joey. “Meet us at the club tonight. We’re gonna get this guy a new line of work.” Max was first to perform. He barely made it through his first chunk when the heckler started. “Why don’t you come up here and tell jokes if you’re so funny?” said Max. This was a forfeit of sorts. Shattering the illusion that only those possessed by a special spirit could be onstage at a comedy club, but it opened up a vulnerability. “I’ll stay down here with my real job,” said the heckler, wearing his turtleneck and sitting alone. “And what do you do for a living?” said Max. He was giving even more slack to the line. “I’m an investment banker. You might know some of my work,” said the heckler. “Buying your whole neighborhood and turning it into a supermarket.” The crowd liked this. “I did think it was strange I got home and there was food on the shelves,” said Max. He got some goodwill back from the crowd. “So what’s an investment banker doing hanging around a dingy comedy club? You’re not here for the drink specials.” “I’m waiting for your mom to start work,” said the heckler and the crowd oohed as one. “I didn’t know she teaches her manners class at night,” said Max. “Oh, she doesn’t. She moonlights in the back of my car.” “I’m glad someone can make her happy since she’s been dead for five years.” “That explains why she was so cold last night.” And the crowd went wild. Max retreated backstage with his chin locked to his chest. Next the road comic took the stage for the primetime slot. Armed with a little inside information, he leveled his first blow when the heckler interrupted. “I don’t go to Wells Fargo and knock the subprime cock out of your mouth,” said the road comic. “Yeah, security won’t let you in,” said Tommy. “So where’s your wife, she lets you out every night?” said the road comic. “Says it’s good I have hobbies.” “What do you think?” The road comic turned to an older woman in the front. “Does that sound like any wife you know? “Making your wife happy should be your hobby!” said the woman. The crowd loved it. Checks were dropped and the two comics had held their own but the heckler was as confident as ever. The performances were still going his way. The manager even came by and told him that he was putting on a great show. Perhaps the comics should live in constant struggle with this fiend and never perform actual material again. They could travel the world, with the heckler in tow behind them, sharing their back and forth shenanigans with unsuspecting audiences coast to coast. No. It was time for the killing blow. “Before I begin my show,” Joey said to the late night crowd, “I want to make a small request. Please keep the table talk to a minimum. I have sensitive hearing.” He began his set and when the heckler chimed in, Joey clasped his hands around his ears and began to wail “Oh no, please! It hurts!” The heckler started to retort. “Nooo,” said Joey. “My brain will explode. Bloody chunks of cerebellum will go flying into the crowd.” It was all absurd but the audience took the bait. It was a risk to give control so fully to the heckler. But this exaggerated action played into the heartstrings strummed by Max. Joey would have to ride those vibrations. The road comic letting the audience participate opened up the formation of a new energy. One turned against the heckler. On the next word out of the heckler’s mouth a patron joined in. “Stop! I just got this shirt dry cleaned.” Another added. “Yeah, I’m allergic to brain matter.” The heckler tried again. The older woman cut him off. “Stop! That’s my son up there. I couldn't bear to watch his head explode. He already left the family business to become a comic.” Joey remained in his hear-no-evil pose, grinning at the fun his audience was having. The heckler got up and left. The manager found the three comics cheersing their successful show. “Joey, you’re out,” said the manager. “Tommy said he’s not coming back and the owner isn’t going to be happy.” The manager stormed off. Joey swirled his drink contemplating the end of his new gig but couldn’t fight off the smile he earned that night. The strongest foes take their betters with them to the grave. “Hey kid. If you aren’t so busy, you can join me for a few shows. Meet some club owners. Take your act on the road. You’re better than The Loco.” “What about me?” said Max. “We’ll tell you all about it,” the road comic said, “when we get back.” |