THE PUNCHLINE IS AT THE END
Entry No. 1
The only thing on Bert’s mind right now is a wish that he’d be able to survive another night of performance without breaking down. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulder as he straightened his American suit. His girlfriend once asked him if he ever felt that what he’s doing is more than a job, but a mission.
“The task of making people laugh is no small deal,” she would often say smiling. “It’s not a laughing matter.”
He admires the way his girlfriend believes in him. More often than not, she would have more faith in him than he himself does. He would reply that it really is no big deal; he’s a performer like any other person who performs as a source of income. Like a singer that people pay to sing, or an instrument player that people pay to see them play, his medium is just different from the rest. The goal and job description still remains the same: entertain the audience.
He checked on his face on the mirror of the dressing room. He knew that the paleness emanating from his face is not because of the face powder he’s required to put on. It’s like a mask or a make-up to stand-up in the crowd, to make him more noticeable in the spotlight. His hands were also sweating profusely, an involuntary sign of nervousness he has since he was a child. The sweat from his eyebrows were dripping like he’s about to go into war without a gun. It all punctuates his fear.
But what is he afraid of? He has done this more than a couple of times, each with successful results. The fact that he no longer feels funny is what he’s most afraid of.
The stage manager knocked on the dressing room. “Ten minutes,” he yelled.
He stood and went to the backstage. There, he scanned the audience. There were about a hundred guests or so tonight. It is a large crowd compared to the previous nights. And this does not include the waiter, and the women whom you could ask to keep you company (GRO’s or guest relation officers).
“A hundred drunkards,” he thought. He willed that everything would be fine. Wiping the sweat from his palm, he inhaled deep. Feeling the pocket of his suit, he felt the cigarette sticks he knew he would need.
The dance number is almost over. Scrambling on the stage was the emcee.
“Let’s give them a big hand of applause,” the emcee yelled.
“And now, for the kind of entertainment that this club has been known for,” he continued. “Someone to tickle our funny bones. Someone who could also tickle your fancy.”
The audience laughed.
“Ladies and gentlemen, here he is. The funny and the witty, fresh from a sanitarium in the north,” the audience again laughed. “Bert ‘The Punchline’ Salinas!”
There were applauses from the crowd especially from the waiters and the GRO’s. It a conspiracy actually. To make the customers feel that that the performance is great, the first ones to laugh at a joke or clap at an introduction are the GRO’s. It helps, he has to admit. It sets the mood. Though tonight, it made him more nervous.
“The expectation would be higher,” he thought.
Frantically waving his hands, he entered the stage. As part of the routine, he would chase the spotlight, which would deliberately avoid him. He would chase it down the stage then the spotlight would settle on a customer. Holding a microphone with one hand he would shout, “Hey you’ve got the wrong guy.”
He would sit right next to the startled audience and say, “I guess I haven’t started yet and you think you could take away my job,” all part of the act, he would look serious to the delight of the crowd.
“What?” he would start making fun of the customer under the spotlight, “So you think you’re funny? If holding the hand of the lady beside you from under the table is funny, I think you’re wife must know. Welcome to candid camera”
People would then reciprocate with laughter as well as the customer whom the practical joke was on. He would then say, “Fix the light. I need to work here, Mac,” referring to the lightman. The spotlight would then fix on him. “Thank you sir. What a lovely company you have.”
He would then go back to the stage, pretending to trip at the stairs. More laughter. On centerstage, he would perform the act he’s been practicing in the mirror for the last few weeks. Every week, there must be some new materials to present otherwise it would be the same thing over and over again. He prepares very hard for every performance. He’s an amateur compared to stand-up comedians who made it big on television. Frankly, he’s confused on whether he’d like to have this job as a career. He’s twenty-six. He feels that he’s just playing with time. He’d still be able to make his dreams come true.
The pressure mounting on him to become funnier on each performance is taking its toll on him. He’s running out of funny situations that he could think of. Add these to the fact that there are problems that he must face, like everyday living for example. With all these things running on the back of his mind, he felt that the audience’s laughter is not the same as the first day of his act.
He was a very good comedian. He could stand on the stage to crack jokes for thirty minutes or so, not tiring, unwavering. His audience being part of his jokes, always complied to the punchlines he had. He was witty. He could think of a funny line in an instant. But tonight, he only performed for twenty minutes. He felt he was suffocating. Loosening the collar of his suit, he inhaled for clean air but got cigarette smoke instead.
“I guess that’s all folks,” he said. “You’ve been a great audience. You’ve ensured my pay for the week.” He was smiling.
Entering the dressing room, the stage manager followed him. He was a big and burly man. He was not smiling.
“There are some folks that wants you to join them in the lounge,” his boss said.
“Not tonight,” he replied.
“I’m gonna be frank with you. I did not like your performance. There were too many bashing. Hell, these people came here to relax not be harassed.”
“They found it funny, didn’t they?”
“That’s not the kind of entertainment we want to show here. What? You want to start a reputation?”
Bert pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and started to smoke.
“I’m giving you time to clean your act,” it was a warning, an ultimatum and an order at the same time. “I’ll cut you off the list and don’t even think if I can do that or not.”
The stage manager got off the room. Bert stood in silence. He knew that there had been too many insults he had thrown at the audience. He also knew that next time, people might not find it funny. He got dressed and went to the bar. After taking two cans of beer, he declined an invitation from one of the customers to join them. Excusing that he’s got to go somewhere, he started towards his girlfriend’s apartment.
