The Lost Weekend

 I'm getting desperate for comedy gigs now, having worked my way through the whole city directory. The only clubs I haven't door-stepped are;

1. Happy Sunshiners (daycare for confused elderly) 
2. Little Flippers (kid's breakfast club behind the fish market)

 The first would be too upsetting after how my gran went, and I'm saving the last until I have enough of a head cold to not throw up from the smell (fish not kids, though you never know).

Thankfully fate smiles on me, and enough staff get sick / pregnant / go mad at Crisponix Manufacturing that they are pretty much willing to take on anyone for a temporary admin position. At least the rent will be paid this month! 

I like working with Callie. She knows everything about everyone that works there and relishes telling me the latest goss about who is dating who, and what's going on the much talked about 'top-floor'. She's enjoying my company too, and wonders if I'd fancy a more permanent position with better prospects.

The extra dosh is very tempting, but I came to  the city to make my name on the comedy club circuit. If I'd wanted office work I could have stayed back in Sunset Valley. She tells me to think about it as there's a training course coming up soon and I'd need to put my name forward straight away. 

I have plenty of time to think as the following weekend gets pretty lonely. I want to hang out with my flatmates in our apartment, but all the girls have other things planned. It's so quiet indoors that I head off to a local park feeling sorry for myself and homesick.

After a miserable lunch, of a few stale crackers and dry cheese I walk to the library, thinking I could maybe write some new material for my act, and it would be easier with people around. The building is full of singles like me, filling their time. I ought to find this reassuring, but I end up feeling sad.

That is until I really lose it! The poster on the door says 'Try Our Summer Mocktails' and donate to the Animal Aid fundraiser. Of all the people who could be tending bar,  I see our LANDLORD the goldfish hater!!

Life has thrown a final insult.

"YOU, YOU HYPOCRITE!!" I yell. "You chuck out Jo for keeping a harmless fish in a bowl, and then you have the cheek to turn up at an animal charity event and RUIN MY DAY!!"

"What?"

"Jo, the tenant I replaced, you threw her out." I'm almost crying at this point.

"She hadn't paid her rent, for three months." He replies, obviously puzzled. "I'm not made of money."

Somehow the fact that I'd got it wrong is all his fault. Other volunteers turn up to investigate the yelling and I run out of the building wanting nothing more than to hide my face and flee the world.

Even bed is not an escape. In my dreams I'm somehow at a joint gig for fishmongers, kids and poor old confused elders, explaining to them that it's hard to tell jokes when you feel so down, and they are all booing me off the stage.

It's Sunday. I wake up angry but determined to fight back. 

"Hey world, this me Rad, and I'm NOT a failure!"

The neighbours start banging on the wall in protest at my ranting, so I go out.

Ok, don't judge me.

There's this family bbq-ing way too many cheap burgers in the park, and when the kids get bored, and wander off for ice-cream I swoop.

I mean hey, it's better than the crows coming to scatter the bits on the path and those kids had plenty of padding to spare. Plus I'm saving their arteries for later life.

I'm sitting behind a hedge, about to scoff my free lunch when who should wander along?

"Mr Henderson?"

"Yes," he replies, completely unruffled, as if crazy tenants popping up out of bushes is a daily event.

"I want to apologise" I begin, thinking maybe I can somehow avoid being evicted if I demonstrate to our landlord that I'm not totally nuts. "I was having a bad day, my career.."

"It's ok, I know about bad days." he says. "I'm sorry about the bicycle thing, last week."

It turns out he had to completely redecorate another property because the tenants had scraped paint off the walls with their bikes.

"Totally wipes my profit out when that type of thing happens."
Somehow he looks a bit less creepy today.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, looking at the stolen, greasy burger pile.

I admit that I am, with all the cutting back due to lack of gigs, and my admin wages not having come in yet.

The day ends ends well, in the most surprising way.

Mr Henderson tells me there's an Animal Aid social on later. If I help out waiting tables I'm welcome to help myself to the buffet.

When I relax, I'm back to being myself, making people laugh. It's a nice group of people.

The whole story comes out, the endless rejections, how it's got me down.

Mandy, the group secretary asks me how I'd feel about doing the entertainment at one of their events.

"There's a couple of nightclub owners who support the group, and you never know they might like you and offer you a chance!"

"Wow, I've got a gig! Not paid, but I get my transport costs, and can bring a friend. Yes, city life is looking up at last!"