The club
is called “Taipei Adventurers”, but doesn’t have any adventurers and explorers.
The big neon sign is a palm tree, which is the only exotic décor of the club.
Sometimes,
there are some westerners, sitting in front of the club and drinking beer. The
owner speaks a little English, and holds open-mic every Wednesday. Occasionally,
people would come to the club on open-mic night, not because they want to be
entertained, just because the beer is half-priced.
Today is
Wednesday, and just like any other day at “Taipei Adventurers”, there are only a
few people sitting on couch. Either they drink or stare at their phones.
Suddenly,
a white guy comes in. He looks at the blackboard hanging on the freezer and
asks, “Shoot a joke for free beer?” The owner smiles and nods, “Yes, yes.” The
guy decides to go up on stage and give it a shot. The owner gives him a pat on
the back, says “Break a leg,” Ands send him on stage.
Light
fades in. With sparse applause, the guy comes up to the stage and grabs the
mic.
“Good
evening, everybody. My name is Larry. 賴利 (Laili).” Without any
surprise, nobody pays attention on him.
“Do you
wanna know my Chinese name? My Chinese name is 三八弟. Means somebody. I may be nobody,
but will be somebody one day.” Larry says with a delightful tone.
A woman
looks up at him with her despairing eyes and soon looks down at her small
screen.
Larry
sweats a little, he wonders if the aircon is on? This is what he hates about
Taipei -- hot and humid, like a sauna.
“Alright,
alright, I know y’all here for jokes. I’ve got a good one. I didn’t mean to
come to Taiwan at the first place. It was an accident! When I was on my way to
Thailand and came to a fork in the road. I saw a sign says, “Thailand Left.” So
I decided to come to Taiwan since they are similar.”
He
giggles, but soon realizes that no one is laughing but him. Even the owner
walks away. Larry stands under the spotlight, feels like a giant elephant in
the room. And wishes he was in Thailand, so he doesn’t have to face this awkwardness.
He continues
anyway -- he doesn’t really care much about the audience. “You don’t think my
jokes funny? That’s fine. Do you know what really make me laugh? We are losers,
we all are. Everything is settled before our births. We are defeated even when
we’re sperm.” He makes an exaggerative face, as if trying to convince the
audience this is a good joke.
But
people just remain silence. Larry feels like he is standing in court, waiting
to go to trail.
“Hey, who
am I sleeping with to get the god damn beer?” Larry sweats like a fountain and kicks
the mic stand accidentally, making a big noise.
“Oops!”,
Larry says, but nobody gives it a damn.
Suddenly,
a voice breaks the peace and quiet. A guy talks to Larry from the dark. “Aaa, Laili
Tou,” a guy in white shirt shouts at him.
“What?”
The man
in white doesn’t answer, instead turning to mimic Larry with his buddy. Larry
knows that they’re probably making fun of him. He doesn’t mind, but what really
pisses him off is when they don’t tell you what’s on their mind.
It’s just
like the weather -- hot, humid and stuffy as hell.
“Hey,
you’ve got a problem?” Larry is irritated, he could have just sat at home.
Larry
decides to leave anyway. “Fuck it,” he thinks, “What do you guys know about comedy,
anyway?” He gives up, puts the mic back and kicks the mic stand again while he
leaves. Suddenly, he falls. He looks down, and finds himself trapped by the
wires.
Larry
falls, hitting his nose on the floor.
“Ouch!” He bleeds.
And all of sudden, people laugh,
they laugh so hard they can’t stop.
The owner comes back, witnesses
the scene, and then smiles and gives Larry a beer.
Larry is still trapped by the wires -- and the
worst thing is, he broke his leg.

