The Drama of Comedy
written by Sarah Blodgett
Comedy contests suck. All comics know this, but we still subject ourselves to the humiliation.
I look at comedy contests like bad boyfriends: you know things are going to end badly, but they lure you in with promises that seem too good to be true. Then, even after they break your heart, they assure you that next time will be different. Then, they reject you for someone younger, skinnier, and Asian. Okay, maybe that last part only applies to MY bad boyfriends, but the rest is accurate.
I was in a contest recently, and like most smart comics, I knew I was setting myself up for disappointment but was blinded by the promise of paid work and a chance to be seen by
the industry.
The preliminary round was voted on by the audience. Usually in those instances, the comic that brings the most people wins. Since I was traveling from Boston to Rhode Island, I knew I wasn’t a draw, so I wasn’t expecting to win. So you can imagine my surprise when a large group of employees from a local Target store showed up just to see the show, not just one of their friends. They thought I was the funniest and I made it to the next round. I was so happy. I had never made it past the first round of any contest, comedy or otherwise.
When the semi-finals came, I was told there would be judges, so I was less concerned with other comics packing the crowd. The 10 comics on the show drew numbers. I picked number one, the dreaded bullet spot. The host got up, read the rules of the contest, did a little crowd work, and brought me up to “this comic is nervous about taking the bullet, so let’s be supportive…Sarah Blodgett.”
Even with all that, I killed. I floated off stage at the end of my set. When I was selected to move on to the finals, I danced out of the club that night. It was a high that I, as a non-drug user, had never felt.
When the finals came, I was nervous. It meant so much to me. To top it off, I turned 30 the night before, which, in this business, is like 45 in guy years. I admit I let myself get into my own head too much. It wasn’t my strongest set, but it wasn’t bad. In fact, most of the comics that night were only average. The headliner performed while the scores were being tabulated. I waited for the results, tapping my heel on the floor in an obsessive-compulsive manner.
Finally, it was time to announce the results.
I froze. They read the name of the third prize winner. Then, the second prize winner.
Then the grand prize winner! None of them were me.
I was heartbroken. I take pride in being a very composed female comic. I have never gotten openly emotional about a show, and I have never cried in a comedy club. Of course, I had never been so close to winning anything in my life.
As I realized that I had lost the contest, I could feel the tears well up. I had to get out. I grabbed my coat, left the club, got to my car, and cried. It was then I realized losing a comedy contest is like losing anything else; there are stages of grief.
Denial- I didn’t really lose the contest. The judges must have confused my scores with someone else. They probably thought I was the 50 year-old Hispanic guy. I’ll be hearing from them any day now to fix the mistake and then I will get the
credit I deserve.
Anger- !@#$%^&*%$#@!^&* them all!
Bargaining- Maybe I should send the judges money. I wonder if they accept sexual favors. I should have thought of that before the contest.
Depression- (back of hand to forehead) I can’t go on. I shouldn’t do comedy anymore. I don’t deserve the laughter.
Acceptance- Comedy contests suck!
Time has passed. I have moved on. I’m still a working comic, and no contest will ever take that away from me. But now I have to go, I’m entering another comedy contest. I know, I know, but this one says it’s different.
Sarah Blodgett is a comedian from Boston.
Visit sarahblodgettonline.com.