Embarrassment
Something a bit lighter this week
When was the last time you were truly embarrassed?
You know that feeling - that burning inside, everyone giving you the “quiet toddler pooing” half-smile afterwards. They all know what you've done is embarrassing, you know that they know, they just don't know if you know that they know. You know what I’m talking about - the one that keeps you up at night, when your mind has time to think and wonder, it goes straight back to that moment. One that makes you audibly swear, a random “wankers!” whilst you’re in the shower.
I’m going to make a differentiation between being embarrassed and being humiliated. For me, being embarrassed is something you do to yourself that causes you to feel shame; being humiliated is something someone does to you to make you feel ashamed. So, you’ve only got yourselves to blame here.
I know mine and boy, do I wish i could forget it. You thought of yours? If you’re still struggling, I wish I was blessed with your ability to sleep at night - your head probably hits the pillow and it's lights out, like Tyson knocked out a sleeping baby. God bless you, you have a rare gift and that gift is the ability to not self-flagellate.
It also goes without saying, you do not have the right to say “that’s not that bad” when it comes to hearing other people's stories. Firstly, we’re all our own experiences, creeping through time; you don’t know where I've been, where I am and where I’m going; you simply just don't know what it's like to be anyone but you.
Here's mine - the moment that still tortures me. For the past decade, I unsuccessfully worked towards a career at the Criminal Bar and in an attempt to build a CV/resume, I started debating - to prove that I was able to speak out loud, in front of other people. My partner and I got to a final of a debating competition with the winners going to Europe for another round. We were given our 15 minutes to prepare our response to a particular motion, where I spent the vast majority helping my partner write his opening speech. He turns to me with a minute left, asking what I was going to do? To which I replied:
“Don’t worry, I’ll freestyle”
As if I'm some fucking Jay-Zed, rhyming off the dome yeah?
So we go up. In front of 2 whole QCs (a QC is an elite lawyer in the UK that has been recognised an awarded the title of Queen's Counsel - it's not the name of the label the Migos belong to) and a former debate champion of England. I didn’t even know there was a Wimbledon for debating and here she was, a Martina Hingis of spitting bars at the Bar.
My friend goes up - good opener, put us in a good position - well done bro, you're welcome, I like a bit more credit for helping but that’s ok. The other debaters jump up, deliver really decent submissions.
Here comes my go, swallowing like a Manc in the early 90s. I’m up, staring at an audience of like 5 people, it could have been 5,000. Their crushing expectations and judgements can be felt. Their eyes - those eyeballs tracking me. I then proceed to deliver quite possibly the shittest argument I've ever had to offer. I have 7 minutes, I can't leave in those 7 minutes. I know I'm being shit in those 7 minutes, I know I'm going round the same point I've said three times already, thinking if I thesaurus my way through each word, they won't notice.
And you know its shit when you're visualising the “thank you”, trying to convince myself I could find a flourish that would somehow rescue this whole thing. Dickhead!
I sit down, staring into the ground, my partner offers a “you did well” there’s that fucking "you know thing". I just needed someone to hug me, tell me it was shit that I'm not defined by my mistakes, kiss my forehead, all that jazz.
What was worse, I had to hang around eating nibbles, drinking orange juice, everyone half-smiling like we all do at work.
I got my objective judge in the end - we placed last.
Writing this out isn't cathartic for me, by the way. I'm not making money off this to compensate me for me fucking over me. This is just my pain prostituted for 5 people to relate.
I was inspired by a comedy show I had gone to in New York a couple of years ago. Yes, it is about Andrew Schulz and yes, I am using him to drive clicks, he's my Joe Rogan. I've been really fortunate to be able to go to so many shows because of our friendship and I can say this honestly, Andrew kills - if you have the chance to watch him live, do so [TICKETS ARE ON SALE RIGHT NOW FOR HIS INFAMOUS TOUR]. No hesitation.
Which makes watching him bomb even sweeter - I've only ever seen it once but I absolutely loved it. New York is home to so many comedy clubs and it seems like the Comedy Cellar is the place for comedy - all the known names usually turn up, sit around tables and commiserate about how hard their jobs are standing up for an hour, telling jokes and earning incredible amounts of money.
The Saturday in particular, Andrew was going up late and had been positioned to go up after Dave Attell. People in the UK might not be as familiar with Attell - he's acerbic, tetchy, belligerent at times and quickly forms a relationship with the crowd where they're almost demanding his approval, even if that comes in the form of quick-witted insults or outright dismissals. And what it creates is this incredible energy done at pace - the crowd was raucous.
Up came Andrew.
No one gave a shit about his jokes about his mum, bruv. It wasn't a full bomb - half the crowd was giving him love and you can see him turn to acknowledge them. The contrast was too great though, there was a noticeable difference. It gave me an insight into all the different factors that go into making sure the performance goes as well as it should. It's not just enough for a comic to have funny jokes - the same set Andrew was struggling with at the Cellar had killed in a different part of Manhattan on the very same night. It's a whole concoction of things - how late is it, how drunk they are, how good is the host in setting the mood, what the previous comic had done leading up to this. Attell had basically ended the night with his set, not just by being funny or engaging, but the style itself - it would be almost impossible trying to get the crowd to be interested in anything after that. Imagine your girlfriend spends a wild weekend with a Jamaican and then comes back to you - the contrast just too vast.
We're in the Uber going home, Andrew was clearly annoyed as he had to wait until the early hours of the morning to get on and didn’t get to test out new material as the crowd were in no mood to listen. As it was the first time I've seen Andrew bomb, I offered what I could:
"I don't look at you any differently now because you were never funny to me in the first place".
WANKERS!