The Full Charge

Last Saturday I was settling into the VIP (read: Very Important Person) Booth at the Irvine Improv at the Irvine Spectrum.  I was taking a deep breath, inhaling oxygen: my new alternative to drinking alchohol.  I sat in the booth shaking off my walk from parking lot F12 through the 3 ring suburban circus of bleach blond mayhem that is the Irvine Spectrum.  I had 3 shows to do that night: A seven o’clock, a nine o’clock, and an 11 o’clock.  Whatever.  Ain’t nothin’ gonna breaka’ my stride.  I’m The Full Charge for Christ’s sake.  Nobody gonna hold me down.

            Normally I’m nervous before a show.  But that day I was feeling pretty calm.

            Frank Kelly, the club manager walked up to me with a middle-aged women at his side.  “Well, looks like I got another fan who wants to meet me,” I said to my arrogant, yet insecure self.

            “Matt, this is So And So.”  He said what the woman’s name was instead of “So And So,” but I never hear anyone’s name when they’re introduced to me.  I have to really concentrate to say my name.  It’s hard to remember a name like “Matt.”  It’s takes extra focus to deliver it at the right time.

            So when you meet me, I’ll be in my head like, “My name’s Matt, my name’s Matt, my name’s Matt.  Tell her….your name is…….. Matt.”

            You’ll be like, “My name’s so and so.”

            And I’ll be like, “My name’s, Matt.”  I’ll say it real casjjj, but there was actually an unprecedented amount of effort that went into it.

            So anyway I figure this lady caught me the night before or something and wants to meet me, since I’m such a big shot, pumping out 10 minute comedy sets at will.

            “So And So is going to be standing on the lefthand side of the stage translating everything you say into sign language,” smiles Frank in a “you can go ahead and get uncomfortable now,” kind of way.

            I smile back.  Sweat is already beeding on my forehead.

            “Cool!” I smile.  “Awesome.”

            I don’t want anybody up on stage with me.  I’m The Full Charge.  Now I gotta go at Half Pace.

            To those of you who don’t know me, I get irrationally upset about any minor thing that might throw off my show, even though everyone’s only there to see Robert Schimmel, I gotta get all bent out of shape.

            I slumped.  A waiter came by with, “You need anything?”

            “Budweiser.”  O2 was out.

            So they start the announcements and there’s smoke coming off of So And So’s fingers, who has already taken the stage. 

            I scrambled for So And So’s name. Since the announcer didn’t introduce her, I realized I was going to have to acknowledge her presence, and it’d be mighty human of me to know her name.

            “What’s that lady’s name on stage?” I ask the sound guy.

            Shrug.

            “What’s the sound language lady’s name?” I ask Frank.  He didn’t know either. He’s the one that introduced us.  Now he doesn’t know her name.

            “How many people are ready to have a good time tonight?  Your MC for this evening has been on The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, please give it up for Matt Fulchiron.” 

            Up I walk to face the wild and crazy 7pm crowd. 

            “Tonight’s show is close captioned for the hearing impaired,” I pulled out of tin air in order to negate from the fact that So And So was not this woman’s actual name. “Let’s hear it for your interpreter,”  I offered.  The crowd cheered.

            I heard a dial tone in my head.  I was off the hook.

            I shouldn’t have been worried about having her up there.  It actually made for a better show.  It definitely stretched out my material.  After every joke, I’d have to turn and see how they were being translated, especially after anything about sex or drugs.

            Key highlights turned out to be whenever I mentioned marijuana, she would hold an invisible joint up to her mouth.  I found myself saying the word, “Marijuana,” and then turning to So And So who was naturally a couple seconds behind and saying, “Do it.  Do it.”  Then she’d hold the invisible refer up to her lips and my heart was warm with happiness. 

            I told the audience, “This is the most fun I’ve ever had.”

            At one point I told the audience, “I’m single, if any of you ladies want a piece of this sweet ass.”

            So And So stuck her ass out, smacked it, and rubbed it.  Really, So And So.  Is that absolutely necessary?

            I watched the ordeal for Schimmel.  The fun never stopped.  I’ve seen Schimmel a million times, and I think he’s hilarious, but So And So’s demonstrations of his stories about him effing his wife in a wheelchair controlled by a blow tube, and his experiences with testicular cancer killed me.  Watching her kept my head in the stories more than usual.  And it was amazing to see how quickly So And So could come up with descriptions for everything, every comic said.

            I took Schimmel off the stage and it was time to thank So And So.  “Let’s hear it for your interpreter.”  Hey I only had an hour when I was off stage to find out her real name.  Hee Haw.  I’m a Jackass.  At least I know it.

            I told my friend about the experience.  He’s like, “Was it fun?”

And I was like, “Fun?  Yo! It was totally deaf.”  Then I gave him the universal sign of approval:  One huge THUMBS UP!