Reblogged with permission from Gaby Dunn. Gaby is a WICF 2012 performer.
Part of me thinks it’s too soon to be writing about this because I
don’t think I’ve completely processed how I feel, but I also think
maybe this has happened to other women and I should talk about it in as
raw a way as possible. I’m still really embarrassed and ashamed and
garbled up inside, but maybe this can start a helpful discussion in
terms of women and comedy.
Last night, I was on a stand up show in the East Village. The show
started out with a small crowd and the host did an amazing job
interacting with them and riling them up. By the time I got on stage,
there were about 20 or so more people in the audience and the place had
really filled up. The show was still kind of loose because of the back
and forth between the host and the audience, so when I got on stage, I
riffed a bit about the stuff that had happened before and then talked to
one guy on the side of the audience who the host had dubbed “Banana
Republic.” All joke-y. All in good fun.
Then, I start my actual set and do my first two jokes, which go
pretty okay. I start another joke that is vaguely sexual - not crude,
not crass - mainly silly and that goes well too. The next joke I do is
about my boyfriend.
At a comedy show, when you’re on stage, usually you can’t see the
audience because of the bright lights. So I’m looking into pitch
darkness. As I start the joke, someone yells, “Does your boyfriend
know?” referring to the sexuality joke I’d just told. I stop, laugh and
say that he does because I think it’s just more of the loose environment
that’s been going on at this show. I attribute it to an audience member
just having fun. I start to tell the joke about my boyfriend again, and at the midway
point, the same voice yells something else derogatory about my
boyfriend, homophobic and misogynistic towards me. I stop, confused. I
can’t see who is talking to me so I make a HUGE mistake and say, “Sir,
if you’re gonna talk to me, you need to come to the front because I
can’t see you.” I think calling him out like this will shut him up.
NOPE. Instead, he marches to the front and now I see he’s a
TERRIFYING looking crazy man I hadn’t noticed in the crowd. He comes way
too close to the stage and in my fear, I gesture that he needs to sit
in the front, not come on stage with me which seems to be his plan. He
sits and continues talking to me, making gross, lewd comments, leering,
ruining all my jokes and at one point, he takes out a digital camera and
creepily asks if I want to see some photos.
I am horrified. He’s completely derailed the act I’ve worked hard on,
ruined a night of me doing my job which I’d spent all day looking
forward to (and I’d waited an hour to get on stage), embarrassed me and
made me feel worthless in front of my friends at the show and my fellow
comics and is really, really scaring me.
(Relevant note: I am the only female comic on this show and before
me, nothing had happened. I become aware that this is a clear sexist
attack.)
When he first started talking, I had tried to do that thing women are
taught to do where you’re distantly polite to a man who is attacking
you in the hopes that things don’t escalate. “Just smile and make a joke
so he doesn’t hurt you.”
Part of me is so sick of that line of thinking. Even though I’m still
scared, I mock him a bit saying he hangs outside the CVS all day and
telling him I know he’s just going to show me pictures of his dick on
that camera, basically joking that he’s a crazy Internet creeper come to
life. The audience laughs and is on my side, but it’s very, very
uncomfortable and I am visibly unnerved. The more upset I get, the more
he grins a disgusting, slimy grin at me. I wish I were braver.
Finally, I say, “Sir. I’m going to do my last joke and it’s going to
be great and you’re going to shut the fuck up, okay?” He nods, but then
as I start my joke, he yells more horrible stuff at me. I put the mic
back in the stand and say, “Now, because of you, no one’s gonna hear the
punchline of that joke.” Then, I get off stage.
By the time I reach the back, the two people in charge of the show
have grabbed the guy and kicked him out of the show. The host gets back
up and has the audience boo loudly against hecklers and cheer for me. In the back of the room, all the other comics come up and hug me and
make sure I’m okay. I am shaking. Outside of the showroom is the actual
bar attached to the venue. I peek through the curtain of the room and I
already know what I’m going to find.
The creepy guy is waiting for me at the bar.
There is no way for me to get to the door without him seeing me. I am
supposed to meet my boyfriend at a cafe four blocks away, but if I walk
out alone, he’ll follow me. I am trapped. I text my boyfriend that he
needs to walk to this venue and get me. I feel so worthless and stupid
that I need to do that, that I can’t take care of myself. I don’t see
any way for me to lose the guy if he comes after me though. My boyfriend
says he’ll be there in five.
It’s the longest five minutes of my life. The heckler spots me and I
don’t know what to do. I pace around the room, hide in the comedians’
area, and try and disappear into a corner. Eventually, I decide to try
standing outside because maybe there will be people there and he won’t
try and get me. There’s not enough people outside, and I realize this
was a bad choice. I consider calling the police but I don’t know what
they can do.
I know he’s waiting to follow me out of the bar as soon as I
walk away. He’s going to hurt me.
I stand outside for a bit, clutching my phone. I can see the guy
waiting inside the bar. Finally, my boyfriend gets there. I grab his
hand and walk away as the door to the bar opens and the creep yells
after me, “Byyyyye.” I don’t acknowledge it, but it feels like a bullet.
My boyfriend and I turn the corner. I start to sob.
“I wish I were stronger,” I tell him. “I wish I could have punched
the guy or done more, but I was so scared because he was bigger than me
and he looked like he was really going to abduct me, rape me and kill
me.”
(Later, my friend who was at the show says I did the right thing
running away because “that guy looked like he had a knife collection he
wanted to show you.”)
Right now, I feel: beaten, destroyed, helpless, weak, ashamed for
being so scared, shocked, worthless, less than, and terrified. I feel
like maybe I overreacted but then it’s that concept of Schrodinger’s
Rapist, where I don’t know what would have happened. I also feel like I
never want to do comedy again - which I guess is sort of…letting the
terrorists win so to speak, but I don’t know.
The three male comics I talked to about this said they’d been heckled
before but nothing on this level. I suspect I can’t be the only female
comic who’s felt threatened by an audience member, but I’ve never heard
of anything like this before what happened to me last night.
Anyway, maybe I’ll be more eloquent about this at a time when I feel
more eloquent. But for now, I just needed to get this all down
somewhere. Fuck, man. Fuck.
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