I have been rejected from five bars in just one week in New York City. Every time I spurt out my now memorized shpeel: “I’m only twenty years old. I’m here to do comedy not to drink. I swear I won’t drink. You can mark my hands with a sharpie.”
Most bouncers kindly turn me away. Not the bouncer at Cake Shop last night.
I had been to Cake Shop the week before and by a miracle the bouncer marked my hands and let me in. Last night the bouncer and his friend working the door were different guys. I told them I had been there a week before and they had let me in. They didn’t believe me. I told him the host of the show was a girl with round glasses and a dress. They didn’t believe me. The bouncer’s friend said, “What did the bouncer last week look like?” I…
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