An Open Letter to the EastVille Comedy Club

mic

Dear EastVille,

I’d like to be more understanding about this, but you got in over your head. You made promises you couldn't keep. Our relationship has been destroyed because of it.

In the beginning, when I was young (and probably underage), you took advantage of my innocence. I was naïve, and I let you into my life when I didn’t know any better. I thought I was special when I "won tickets" to your shows every single week. I thought that your "two drink minimum" was an easy sacrifice to make for free entertainment. I thought that my presence really meant something to you. 

But I learned quickly. There's no reason to pay $8 for a bottle of Bud Light when you can get a 40 oz. for $3, pour it into a disposable coffee cup, and drink it on the way to the bar. Where trust me, there is plenty of free entertainment

Plenty.

Plenty.

As I grew older, we grew apart. I stopped spending my Saturday nights in the darkness of your basement. You kept in touch though, in your own way. Every Wednesday like clockwork, I’d get a message in the dead of night:

"Hey! Come over, We haven't seen each other in awhile! We'll laugh, have some drinks, it'll be great. Tomorrow, the next night, even the next, whenever works for you. Bring some friends even! I'd love to meet your friends!"

I ignored you, because I knew better. For years you lingered in the background, an old flame that wouldn't die. I guess I could have blocked you but... I always thought you might convince me to spend another night with you. I’d be bored, or lonely, and willing to walk through your door again.

That day came last Sunday. You said all the right things. You knew my weak spots. It's like you could tell I was having a bad day, and would be vulnerable. Easily manipulated. Ripe for the taking.

"Hey! Amy Schumer will be here tomorrow night, and we totally want you to come see her! You can bring people, it'll be a party! I can only get four of you in free, but anyone else I can get in half-priced!"

How could I resist?

How could I resist?

You got me, EastVille. I "reserved" four tickets, drink minimum be damned, and invited friends. We got there half an hour early. We waited patiently in line. And when I got your entrance, I wasn't on the list.

"Oh, you didn't get the message?" your friend said, wincing in embarrassment for me. "Yeah, we totally sent it, maybe you deleted it by accident... only people who paid for tickets can come to the show tonight. Can you step aside?"

That's it? That's all I get? A half-assed apology, after you'd coerced me into getting involved with you again? Do you know how humiliated I was? My friends were there! And implying that I'd "accidentally deleted" your message, like this was my fault? Like I'm the crazy one? I spent my first New Year's Eve back in New York after college with you! Does that mean nothing?!

I understand you couldn't reject the people who'd paid, but why didn't you make it a ticketed show to begin with? Or put a cap on free reservations? Did the people who invited the people who paid, who handed you business, not get into the show? Were they too turned away, forced to watch while you flirted with other patrons right in front of them? Did they fail to make the cut?

I'll never forget this, EastVille. I'll become stronger for it. When you try to entice me to your doors this week, I'm hitting "unsubscribe". You'll never have me again.

My roommate told me he performed stand up for the first time a few days ago. He was walking on air afterwards, and it delighted me to see him seem so fulfilled. But when I found out it was your Open Mic he'd done it with, I couldn't be happy for him anymore. I knew you would burn him in the end. 

And yes, I mean herpes.