The Worst Thing About America

10 Nov

            Sitting at a bar in Central Square, I stared at an empty page in my notebook.  The one-year anniversary of the first time I performed stand up was approaching, and I had filled about one fifth of my college ruled notebook with ideas for jokes.  Some had developed, become part of my act, maybe even my opener or closer.  Others were left to never be touched again because they either didn’t get a laugh, or I never mustered up the courage to try them on stage in fear of offending, or being embarrassed.  Although, I must say, it’s not easy to embarrass me.

          At this point in my life, I prioritized in the following order—comedy, family, friends, work.  Up until extremely recently, I would have organized it differently—boys, boys, boys, wieners, boys, seeing wieners, boys, comedy, acting like a rock star, Facebook, stalking boys on Facebook, watching the Golden Girls, boys, boys, boys.  For no particular reason, or at least not one I can identify without at least a 45 minute session with a psychotherapist, I stopped being infatuated—or even impressed—with boys.  So when a tall handsome man asked to sit down beside me, I shrugged and said, “G’ahead.”  What I meant was, “Do whatever the fuck you want, dude.”

            I felt him wanting to talk to me.  As gorgeous as he was, I was just not biting.  The kid looked like a rock star.  Dark hair, light eyes, tall, with I-don’t-care hair, which probably took him an hour to perfect.  Let’s be honest, he was shmokin’.  Like he was hot.  Like really fucking hot.  My pessimism kicked in and I thought, “Even if we do end up talking, it will lead to nothing but heartbreak.”  After sitting for a moment with his own notebook, he got up and walked away.  I thought sadly, “B’oh.”  I cared, but I didn’t care, but I sort of cared.

            He came back a moment later, sat down and asked me, “Are you studying?”

            “Sort of, just trying to decide which jokes to tell tonight.”

            “Oh!  You’re a comedian!”  I love when people are surprised I’m a comedian.  It makes me feel pretty.

            “Yeah, I am.”

            “How long have you been performing?”  He asked, smiling.

            “About a year.”

            As our conversation continued, the minutes turned to hours and before I knew it we knew way more about each other than two strangers should.  Including that he was NOT addicted to Internet porn.

            Without detecting an accent, I learned that he was born outside of the United States.  I asked him, “Now that you’ve spent some time in the states, what’s the best and the worst—the rose and the thorn—of the United States?”

            “The best thing is sporting events.  I love going to games.  College Football in the best.  The worst thing about the United States is that not everybody has access to free health care.  To have to pay to go to an emergency room is insane.”

            “Ok, those are both good ones,” I said approvingly.  I did agree with his low-light, but his high-light…  I don’t watch sports.  But I’m glad he likes it.

            “So,” he paused.  “What do you think the worst thing about the United States is?”

            I thought for a moment.  “Not enough guys go down on me.”

2 Responses to “The Worst Thing About America”

  1. Mark Fleming November 10, 2011 at 11:04 pm #

    The fact that the guys who do go down on you have to pay for it is insane!

    (Yup, trying to one-up you on your own comedy site…but at least I read it, right?)

  2. nfinny November 14, 2011 at 7:14 am #

    This is so cute! “are you studying?” haha who studies at a bar? 🙂

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