Comedy Quota

Is there a way to recover from self-humiliation? I’m not sure, but I’m still trying. A few months ago, my wife and I decided to take advantage of some free tickets she had received to a comedy club in Austin. We hadn’t had a night out in over a month, so we were both antsy for a few hours of couple-time and some laughs.

It was Friday night, about nine o’clock, and my wife and I sat at a long table pointing away from the stage like a finger. Across from us sat a pair of black women, friends gabbing away. We eased into conversation with them before the first act, a conversation that veered towards comedy and a social disaster.

Favorite Comedian?

“Who’s your favorite comedian?” one asked me. She had a long face and was the lighter of the two, the other toting at least three hundred pounds on her poor unhappy skeleton.

It was an innocuous question. “Richard Pryor.” I blurted out the name without thinking. A scene of him berating the audience from his 1979 live concert flashed before my eyes. I couldn’t recall ever laughing harder.

She smiled, but I wasn’t done. For some reason, I felt the urge to go on. She’d only asked for one. Why couldn’t I leave it at that?

“Eddie Murphy,” I said. His gay Honeymooners skit from Raw made me laugh so hard I cried.

She nodded and sipped her drink. Her smile was missing, but it didn’t register as important. I wish I had just shut my trap at that point. I had no idea how close to a tipping point I was.

“Chris Rock’s another,” I said.

Brows pinched, she exchanged eye contact with her friend. “Okay, we get the message.”

Too Far

Puzzled, I checked in with my wife, but she looked as perplexed as I did. “What are you talking about?”

“Richard Pryor, Eddie Murphy, Chris Rock?” She ticked off the names, while her friend nodded in unison with each one.

“That’s right,” said the heavyweight.

“You don’t have to say that for our benefit,” said long face.

I still couldn’t figure it out. “I’m not,” I said.

“So you don’t like one white comedian?”

“What?“

“Not one white comedian makes your top five?”

It was only a top three, but it seemed like the wrong moment to discuss the concept of addition. Something told me that wouldn’t go over well.

Besides, I had committed a terrible social gaffe and I realized my error: I’d gone one black comedian too far, and now I had to pay the price. What was the limit for a white guy? Was two the most I should mention? Did I have to present a racially diverse list of favorite comedians? What was the quota? Couldn’t I have included one white guy to even things out?

“Of course,” I said. “Jerry Seinfeld.”

“Now you’ve got a name?” said the heavy one. “Now? You think we’re gonna’ believe you now?”

“I- I-“ I took a drink and avoided their stares. A black couple on my right also glared at me with laser eyes.

Saved

Fortunately for me, the emcee jumped up on stage and the show started. If only I had known about the comedy quota, I could have saved myself the embarrassment. I could have created a racially diverse list of favorite comedians: one female, one Latino, one Asian. I could have sprinkled in Richard Pryor and Jerry Seinfeld. If only I had known.

What about your list? Who are your favorite comedians?