I'm back with part three of the best/worst trip to ever happen to me! While I know you all have been waiting for this day since you've read part one and two, if for some reason you haven't read either of those, I would HIGHLY recommend checking them out first! Yeah, I know what you're thinking, how can she possibly have more to this story? Trust me, I don't know how this much happened to us in three days but it did and here I am to tell you about it. So sit back, relax, and enjoy part 3...
After the Staten Island ferry ride from hell, I was all too happy to be back in Manhattan and far, far away from Mr. Lion King and his blanket of stench. We hurried back to our hotel to get ready for our next adventure: a comedy club. Hopefully with this event, we would be laughing at someone else, not at ourselves and our situation. Oh, if only we were so lucky.
It's a common known fact that New York City is known for its shows. Just the previous night, we witnessed a fabulous Broadway production. And while our expectations weren't quite that high for the comedy club, we still eagerly anticipated the night. We chatted aimlessly on the cab ride to the show, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city at dusk. Slowly, the bright lights of city began to fade as the cab began to weave through darker streets. We exchanged confused looks as the cab pulled up to dingy looking neighborhood bar. As we walked through the doors, we were greeted by some smiling hipsters who reassured us that, yes, we were in fact in the right place for the comedy show. We followed the hostess down a narrow hallway that led to a small door. Swinging open the doors, the comedy club was revealed to us.
By comedy club, I really mean comedy closet. The place took the phrase "hole in the wall" to a whole new level. Apprehensively, we chose to slide into a booth by the wall, praying we would be safe from audience participation. But when the entire audience consists of two touristy families, a very inebriated woman from Buffalo, and a few friends of the performers (presumably guilt tripped into coming), we knew only a miracle could answer our heavenly pleas.
The show started just about as well as you can expect a comedy show set in a closet with an audience of a dozen misfits could start: five college drop out looking guys attempting to rap about current events. After two lame attempts, the third guy just flat out quit mid act when he couldn't think of anything to rhyme with "Justin Beiber." The drunk Buffalo woman's laugh was the only sound covering the chirping of the crickets. Suddenly, the spotlight (more like a flashlight), desperately swung out to the audience and landed on, yep you guessed it, the unluckiest Midwestern tourists to ever roam the streets of New York.
"So, where are you three lovely ladies from?" As my aunt answered, "Chicago", I was deciding whether my best option was to duck under the table or see if somehow the wall would accept me as its own. Before I could pull off a graceful stop, drop, and roll under the booth, the guy excitedly exclaimed, "Chicago?! I've always wanted to ask someone from Chicago how you feel about being called the 'Second City?'" As if the situation wasn't as cringe worthy, butt clenching, insanely awkward enough, my aunt, without missing a beat, responded, "How does it make YOU feel?" Remember those chirping crickets? Yeah, they're practically screaming now.
After the poor guy moved on to another audience member, we started planning. There was absolutely no way we were going to spend another two hours stuck in this hell hole of a closet on our last night in New York. On the count of three, we all stood up mid set, and bolted for the door. Remember, in a room of about a dozen people, three frantic women fleeing, who managed to make the horrible show even worse, is not an action that goes unnoticed. After what seems like eternity, we made it out of the closet, breathing out a sigh of relief. Yet when we went to venture out into the crisp night air, it hit me. My scarf, (Yes, the one that got caught in my coat earlier. Yes, I'm an idiot.) was still sitting on that horrible booth. My aunt, bless her heart, valiantly took the bullet and reentered the dreaded little room, interrupted the set again, and grabbed my scarf from the table. As we again ventured back out into the night air, we couldn't help but laugh and hope that our unfortunate string of events had finally come to the end. If only we knew what Times Square had in store for us...
