Alan Lebetkin

People talking to me after a show is a good sign.  It means I connected with the audience and initiated a conversation, which is the whole point of what I was doing on stage with a microphone.  The post-show comment is a continuation of the conversation, demonstrating that the audience became comfortable enough with my feeble attempt at a personality to pursue the conversation even after our allotted time has passed.

The best comments are when someone repeats something you said on stage back to you.  In response to my pigeon joke, I’ve gotten, “I was totally shit on by a pigeon!” “A pigeon shit on my sister once,” and my favorite…the person grinned, shook his head, and just uttered, “Pigeons.”  I nodded back.

I’m usually bad at this post-show conversation business because I’m  a quiet person.  I freely admit to not liking conversation and am strange enough to do something like drive cross-country with someone never once opening my mouth.  The stand-up context is ideal because I dictate the terms of our discussion and let the audience know when they’re supposed to respond with laughter.  It’s contrived and artificial, just the way I like it.

The problem is that the audience isn’t a damaged sociopath like me, and will want to continue chatting.

The most frustrating comments are when people respond to something in your act without reminding you what they’re talking about.  Once someone firmly shook my hand and said with the authority of someone trying to deliver a joke, “I really like your shirt!”  I stared at him blankly, considering what this cryptic zinger was supposed to be zinging.  An awkward moment passed, then he said, “You said people complimented your sweater, but you don’t have on a sweater tonight, so I said shirt.”

I did say that.  Thirty minutes ago.

The best kind of comments are back-handed insults.  They’re the only ones I can engage in.  What the audience usually doesn’t understand is that jaded cynicism is a prerequisite to becoming a comedian.  They think they have the upper hand because they saw the gentle comedian perform, but what they don’t know is that a comedian is a wolf in sheepskin condoms.

(I made that figure of speech up because I forget the real figure of speech, but it doesn’t matter because mine is better).

Last Tuesday a foreign guy ran up to me and said that in Holland, when someone’s acting like a fool, they say, “Don’t be an Alan.”  I loved that.  I thanked him and told him that it was going in the act, and then I met all his friends.  One of them was also named Alan.  This other Alan looked bothered.  They might have brought it up with him a few too many times.

What a wonderful thing to say to someone.  Here’s how I’m going to work it into my act:

I’m in a bad mood.  Last week this guy from Holland came up to me after a show and was like, “Did you know that in Holland, when someone is acting like a fool, we say to him ‘Don’t be an Alan.’  It’s funny because you were just being a fool and your name is Alan!”  You can’t tell me that!  That’s like coming up to me and saying, “Check this out.  You’re gonna love this.  Did you know that in my country…you’re an asshole?”

Me: “That’s interesting, because in my country you’re an asshole.”

“Welcome to America.”