An old friend of mine, Peter Kaufman, recently invited me to a function where it was my job to be a panelist, talking to a fairly large group (who paid to get in – more for the drinks than the entertainment) about Super Bowl commercials. I was supposed to be a critic, comic, commentator – something along those lines. I did this job last year and for some inexplicable reason, I was invited back. I suck at this job, by the way.
I sat on a couch on a stage with a legitimate businessman to my right and Peter (a very funny guy) as the MC. People looked at us like we were professionals. Ten Super Bowl commercials were shown. After each one, we were suppose to say pithy, funny, things while appearing to know what we were talking about. Did I mention how much I suck at this?
I wanted to be funny, of course. I wanted to be Letterman-ishly good. Unfortunately, I felt like William Hung on American Idol. I heard laughing now and then but I think it was because some people have a sick lust to watch a person dying in front of a crowd.
Of course, everyone has an opinion about commercials. We all concoct supposedly intelligent reasons why we like one and hate another. I watched each spot and made smart-ass banter. Some people laughed (out of pity, likely) and some just sat there like dogs doing algebra in their heads. Sometimes what I thought would be humorous was actually just odd.
There are few things that will slap a pop-knot up side of your confidence faster than speaking in front of a group who may not share your opinions – or who are possibly drunk. That was the job, however. It made me understand, yet again, how tough it is to be out front in public or be a comedian, singer or even a stripper. I appreciate President Obama’s speaking talents more and more with every public talk I give. To lay out extemporaneous, off-the-cuff verbiage in front of a hundred or so people is a Robin Williams-ish skill and a Chris Rock-ian talent – neither of which I possess. You have to bare your brilliance, humor or stupidity to people you don’t know, some of whom hate you because you work for the competition. I was good at the last one. Three women got up and left after they’d had their fill of opinions they clearly didn’t share. If I were smarter, I would have gone with them.
As it went on and on, I found the silences between words were funnier than the words. Sometimes the less you say, the better – in court, in marriage and on stage. Now and then, I just looked vacantly around the room when called upon by Peter for a witty comeback. People laughed. Then I would say something and most of them stopped laughing. Instant feedback. Simply translated: you suck.
I think two people thought my comments were funny. That’s the power of Drinkability. 120 people, however, probably wished they hadn’t paid money to watch this pitiful show. Five guys standing at the bar clearly enjoyed seeing me suffer. I know that because they pointed and bent over, slapping their knees while howling with laughter. Sadists.
I doubt I will be asked back next year. I missed a basketball game I wanted to see on ESPN. I angered several woman, insulted a couple of drunks and went home to cold creamed beef on toast.
I have given perhaps a thousand presentations, prepared speeches and impromptu talks. I have been on panels and even sadly led the choir in a church a couple of times years ago. It never gets easier. Every crowd is a tough crowd.
As I was leaving, a woman approached me and said, “Peter, thank you for coming out tonight and doing this again.”
Yes. There was my out. She thought I was Peter Kaufman. Perfect. As we talked, and I pretended to be Peter, I slowly peeled off my nametag. I smiled and thanked her graciously, making sure she had no doubt that I was, indeed, Peter. I even pointed at Peter, standing with a group in the corner and I just flat-out lied.
“Look at him over there.” I said. “That Terry Taylor is a pathetic site – working the crowd like he thinks he’s funny. I feel bad for him. Taylor is such a schlub.”
She looked sadly and nodded. I ran out the door.
Sorry, Peter.