Wednesday, 17 March 2010

Good Vibrations, Bad Bleeps

It seemed simple enough.
"Just make sure you do exactly 20 minutes - no more, no less. They're very strict about running on time."
As well as being a living legend in the comedy world, Agraman is a promoter I really like and respect (and one of my best sources of paid work), so I took his instructions really seriously. "They don't have a red light or anything so you'll have to time your set yourself."
"No problem," I said. And I was confident. After all I had a secret weapon. I had bought it on the internet from the Royal National Institute for the Deaf. A silent, vibrating watch.
I first got the idea from Justin Moorhouse (Young Kenny from Phoenix Nights and drive-time presenter on Key 103) when I worked with him at the Comedy Store. Not that any of that has any bearing on the story at all. But I don't have that many names to drop, so I get them in whenever I can. (Did I mention that Roy Walker from Catchphrase once recognised me in a club and came over to say hello?)
Anyway, Justin had this funny, white, ladies watch on. He told me it was programmed to vibrate at various points throughout his set so he knew how much time he had left. This way he knows what routines will fit into the remaining time and when to bring in his closing gag.
I thought, I'll have one of them. But I found one that seemed even better. It was from the RNID and it was a man's watch in black. It is specially designed for the profoundly deaf. It has all sorts of vibrating timers you can programme. Just the job.
So as I strode into the theatre, I felt full of confidence that, no matter how funny or how crap I was on the night, I would at least do my agreed 20 minutes. No more. No less.
The venue was impressive. Waterside Arts Centre is a nice, modern little theatre in the centre of Sale. I've got used to doing pubs, clubs and bars but this was only my second ever theatre gig.
Theatre gigs are a bit different. When we sit down in a pub or a club with our friends we become kids again. We loosen up, we chat, we joke, we make fun of each other. But a theatre has quite a different effect. When we sit in a theatre we suddenly become all grown-up and intelligent and middle class.
Theatre audiences are not naturally geared up to get involved in conversations with the acts, or to be publicly mocked for comic purposes. They just sit there in rows, gazing at you expectantly and waiting to be entertained. And fair enough - they are in a theatre after all.
So, as I stood in the wings, waiting for the compere to announce me, I had a few more butterflies than usual. That's when I remembered I needed to set my watch. So I pressed the button to set the timer to 20 minutes.
It bleeped. Loudly.
That's right. My silent, vibrating "especially designed for profoundly deaf people" watch frigging bleeped.
This hadn't happened earlier when I had tried it out at home. But now, here I was, standing in the dark and I must have pressed some random, unknown button and set it to "bleep". In a blind panic I tried to sort it out, pressing buttons left, right and centre. Bleep Bleep Bleep Bleep frigging Bleep.
Why would a profoundly deaf person want a bleeping watch, for God's sake?!! It could be doing that all day and they would never know!
And not only was it unsuitable for the profoundly deaf - it was totally unsuitable for the profoundly panicking...Bleep Bleep Bleep...Aaaaaggh!
I popped my head out into the corridor where one of the other acts was standing. "Hey do you know how to work one of these watches? I can't stop it bleeping!"
He just shook his head and muttered, "Oh. F**k."
I went back to the wings. The compere was still warming the crowd up. I pressed every button again. Twice. Then - miraculously - the bleep stopped and was replaced by a reassuring vibration. Thank Christ!
The compere cried, "Ladies and Gentlemen...Sam Brady!" and I walked onto the stage feeling mighty relieved.
I was so relieved, in fact, that I forgot to set the timer running.
I think it was about five or six (or ten?) minutes later that I realised. It was too late to panic by then. I was too busy trying to get some laughter out of a theatre full of people on their best grown-up and middle-class behaviour. I just set the timer running and carried on. When it vibrated, I said my goodbyes and got off.
But as I left the stage, I was horrified. I had over-run! The one thing they told me not to do!
I had even had a letter from the theatre the previous day stressing the importance of sticking to time. And I had gone over by... I didn't even know how long. Would they be angry? Would Agraman ever hire me again?
I went back to the empty dressing room to get my coat. I wanted to stick around for some reassurance from the compere or the stage manager but I had promised Mrs B I'd join her and some friends at a party straight after my set. So I walked straight out into the night, taking all my anxieties with me.
This was on Saturday but I've been fretting about it ever since. I imagined Agraman being really pissed off. So this morning I bit the bullet and rang him up to explain.
I told him the story and, to my great relief, he laughed. "Well if you've got that much material," he said, "I'll have to start giving you longer spots." What a top bloke.
In the post, this morning, I got a letter from the Royal National Institute for the Deaf. Had they discovered that their vibrating phone bleeps? Were they writing to offer me compensation for stress and potential loss of earnings?
No. They were offering me a special deal on a telephone. Apparently, it flashes...

2 comments:

James said...

Actually I've got one of those watches and it does clearly say in the instructions that it bleeps. You just need to switch the mode to the time and then press the start button until the little bleep icon disappears.
Liked the post though.

Sam Brady Stand-up Comedian said...

A ha! Thanks for the tip.

I hereby retract any implication that the RNID's products are anything less than brilliant. (Although I still wonder why a deaf person would want something that bleeps.)

I'm afraid I never read instructions. So, while the phone is suitable for the profoundly deaf, it's not really suitable for the profoundly lazy.