To be a stand-up comedian, besides being funny, you must hate spending too much time with people.
I like people, but I have a one, two, or at most, three-hour time limit before I start thinking, “I’ve got to get going.” It’s not that I have anywhere specific to go. My parents called it “ants in the pants.”
I have been like this my whole life. I spent my entire childhood pulling on the hem of my mother’s dress, asking her if we could move on. It’s not people; it’s me. I enjoy dinner, movies, board games and walks, all for short spurts. I find joy in family events that are under two hours and 28 minutes. Anything longer, I need to shut it down with a nap. Twenty minutes on the husband’s bench at Macy’s while my wife tries on clothes is lovely. Twice while traveling with friends, I ditched them after a short three days.
I remember in fifth grade walking into class, my thought was, “Oh, God, these people again.” I annoyed the teachers, so I’d be sent down to the principal’s office. Sitting by my lonesome for half an hour, waiting to be called in, was nirvana. The principal once said, “You’re here so much I almost think you like sitting outside my office by yourself.” If he only knew.
Working with others has never been my thing. If you’ve ever seen a gorilla in a cage, swinging from ropes, all agitated, that’s me in an office situation. I don’t do well locked in an office with the same people day after day. After an unspecified amount of time, I start to hate the job and my coworkers. I’ve had a boss once say to me, “We have to let you go because you look so miserable and you make other people miserable by the way you look.”
I knew very early on that working with others for more than two hours a day would deteriorate my soul. At 18, I worked in boys’ wear at E.J. Korvette department store. By the end of my second week, I was drained and wondering what I was doing with my life. I quit. That’s not a normal reaction.
These days, you can get fired, canceled or sued for one wrong word. If I had a 9-5 job, I’d not last a week. Water cooler talk is now about who they took down, not the latest TV episode. Ask anybody about the people they must work with, and they will agree with me.
I hate the morning work questions. “How are you, Mark? Have a good night?” “No. Because I knew I had to come back here.” When you are first being interviewed. “Why do you want to work at Smith Barney?” “I don’t.” “Is there anything we should know about you?” “Yes. I steal office supplies.”
So, I had no choice, I became a stand-up comedian, where I spend most of my time alone. Not everyone can spend that much time by themselves, especially if you don’t like yourself. It is an acquired taste. Stand-ups are like the Unabomber; we spend all day by ourselves, except instead of making bombs, we write jokes.
I have an office outside my house, just me in it, where I write by myself. I eat lunch by myself. I’m on stage by myself. I travel by myself. I roll into a town and check into a hotel, where I spend the day alone. Before my show, I’m taken into a dressing room where I ask to be left alone to think. Then, that night, I try to get as many laughs as possible on stage alone, and then it’s back to the hotel or airport and on to the next town by myself. As Jackie Gleason said, “How sweet it is!”
Like the taste of carp, working alone is not for everyone, but neither is working with others. I’ve been asked if you don’t like being with people for long periods of time, how have you stayed married for 36 years? I was lucky to find the one person in the world I could spend time with, but I also try to sleep as much as possible.
Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer and hosts, along with Danny Lobell, the “We Think It’s Funny” podcast. His new book is “Why Not? Lessons on Comedy, Courage and Chutzpah.”
