Growing up I attended church. One Sunday I remember hearing
the story of Jacob and the Angel. The story goes that Jacob wrestles this angel
and gets pinned. In the tale the angel calls Jacob by name and they wrestle. It
was a big deal apparently for someone to know your name in those days. Now it
is easy with the internet. Anyway the angel pinned him and gave him a new name,
Israel. The way I always understood the story was that the angel pinning Jacob
was an allegory for the universe bitch slapping us from time to time back into
reality. I am not terribly religious but have always enjoyed the symbolism.
This week has been a hard one. While things are starting to
get better life has been kind of rough this month. It has been hot, so hot that
my air conditioner is useless. Not to mention my audiobook was taking longer
than I thought it would. As for the chip on my shoulder about being a female
comedian, that has become a cinderblock. While I have been on TV a few times, I
am by no means a household name. Sure, I am funnier than a lot of the guys
performing, but this is a sexist business. The women at a certain level don’t help.
It’s asinine that I pay for stage time because I am well past the open mic
level, I have three fan pages and my followers max out. Some ass weed asked if
I wanted to do a bringer. I asked if he owned a TV. My royalty check has been
taking forever to get there and I hate having to chase people for money. Oh,
and no one around me has been acting right.
Thursday I ended up doing a show at the Phoenix House. It is
a therapeutic community, and in this case for young guys. Usually they are
court mandated there. I do it with recoverycomic.com, headed by Keith Godwin.
The guys range from ages 15-20, and for as young as they are have hit it pretty
hard. For me, the trip is usually a mix of fun and emotional. Fun because I
usually have a good time. But emotional because when I was a little older than
they were I found myself at a bottom with food, diet pills, booze, an abusive
relationship, and other bad decisions. I found it was either get my shit
together and join the guys I was dating in jail. I found that it was either get
my shit together or get another man like my ex who would eventually kill me. I
found it was get my shit together or not live to see my twenty third birthday.
I did and am grateful.
The show was a lot of fun and the guys were a riot. The dug
May Wilson and myself. As a matter of fact, they informed me they had an extra
bed in case we wanted to stay. I would have to say they were a good audience
overall. They liked the comedy as well as the improv dudes. It gave them a
chance to be a part of something. Of course they were on their best manners
helping me with my suitcase because it had been forever and a day since they
had seen a woman. I left one of my books with them for reading material. Not
only so that they would get a chance to pass time, but to let them know they
could do this too if they stopped going the way they were and turned it around.
That is when my boss called me and asked me if I could do a
birthday cake show girl. I said sure. It was in Jamaica, Queens. Yeah, it was
early but things have been slow and I need the money. The next morning I woke
up. I got to the train and made the long trek. When I got to Queens I ended up
in front of the place. It was a Health Center. The contact insisted on coming
outside to get me. Glancing, I saw a group of men playing basketball and some
women chilling. I was at a drug treatment center! What were the fucking
odds?!?!? I took a deep breath. Maybe it was a mental hospital. Not that one is
ever better than the other. I googled the place on my iphone. Drug treatment
center. BINGO! What the hell was God/The Universe trying to tell me?
I was then met by a
guy who asked if I was mandated. I said no. A few minutes later a black butch
woman came out and helped me with my suitcase and brought me to the contact. I
think she had been hanging out and was a regular trouble maker. But she was my
friend. In a place like that you need a friend like her. It’s because the men
in there are all gnarly in one way or another, and as a white woman with all
her teeth I would be fresh meat. Walking in to meet the contact I felt a walk
down memory lane that wasn’t so pretty. Somehow, I got out of that part of my
life alive. How I did not end up as a client in a facility like that is an act
of God, period.
The telegram ended up going well, but it seemed like the
eternal wait in the contact’s office. The people were cool, and a lot were
staff. In places like that many of the staff are former addicts themselves. I
felt fine after delivering the telegram, and the contact was kind enough to
walk me out. What were the odds my ass would end up in two drug treatment
centers within twenty four hours of each other?
Just as my shocked ass was riding the bus back I ran to my
second stop. My boss called. Apparently I left my hat there. Oh shit, my show
girl hat. Monday I go to get it back. Maybe there is still something I have to
do there. Maybe it is the fact I still haven’t dumped that little bit of
attitude I have been sporting as of late.
Today I passed on a telegram job to do a shoot. In an odd
twist of fate my boss’s camera was stolen, the shoot was cancelled, and it was
too late to do the telegram job. I talked to my boss at the TV station about
what was going on with me after a ten second explosion on my host page. I ended
up telling him. He told me perhaps it was the universe telling me I had to be a
power of example.
I thought about it. Lately I have been bitching about being
a female comedian. I asked myself what was more important, the cinderblock on
my shoulder or making people laugh. Thursday night at the Phoenix House showed
me making people laugh was more important, and not to let the bullshit stand in
the way of what I loved to do. Yeah, the TV shoot was cancelled but there will
be others. Yeah, I passed on the shoot but there will be others. But these days
I have TV shoots, jobs I love, work for people who love me, and write books.
None of that was true once upon a time. Maybe I am not where I want to be, but
these days I have a legit shot at getting there.
These days I worry about when my next book talk is, if my
sound engineers will finish my audiobook, if I will be on TV again. I worry
when strangers don’t recognize me on the street. This shit is what is known as
luxury problems. I remember when my roommates wanted to kick me out because my
ex and I would get violent when we fought. Or worse yet, when I had to get a separate
mailing address so he wouldn’t find me. Those are real problems. Actually,
aside from my whining my life is good. I have some awesome things on the
burner. Maybe I need to finish cleaning my bathroom now that I work enough to
maintain my own apartment. And as I am bitching and yelling I hear some of my
friends who lost their lives going down the wrong path yelling at me. I also
think of my former friends still going down that path. I think of how they
reach out to me from time to time with updates on how shitty the bottom is and
how they just keep hitting it. I also think of how blessed I am to have gotten
out.
I think the angel pins us all in different ways. I am not
saying this to convert you, but life gives us the backhand when we need it from
time to time.
Yes, the angel knows my name and I lost the wrestling match.
Translated, the cinderblock is off my shoulder and I think I have been humbled.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
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