The Comdeian

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.