The Improv Class

After a decade of consideration, I finally signed up for an improv class. At first I had to act real cool- like I didn’t care if I’d be funny or not. That way if I wasn’t any good it wouldn’t be a big deal.

The first few classes I didn’t exactly suck, but I definitely felt like a monkey at a wine tasting. I guess that’s not that extraordinary, since I spend most of my life feeling like I’m a monkey at one event or another, and any minute someone’s going to tap my furred shoulder and thank me for wearing a diaper but politely request that I leave because all the guests have figured out that while I share much of their DNA I’m not entirely of the same species.

It was the last class of level A that I got a laugh. It was a big laugh, a crowd-goes-wild laugh, a head swelling, chest puffing high on life laugh. And suddenly I felt something stirring deep inside me. A little egg that had been incubating in my guts for years was hatching. I knew that I was going to stop acting like I didn’t care, and start taking this shit real serious.

From that point on I poured all my self esteem into a three hour class on Sunday afternoons. I sobbed in the shower before each class then felt more alive between 3pm and 6pm than I ever have in my life. My classmates were supportive and encouraging. They complimented my scenes even when I thought I had blown it. I trusted their opinions and ached for their laughs and approval.

But an unexpected change has come over me. I bought into it. It’s like I watched the same infomercial over and over again until I bought Sham Wows for me and all my friends. I believed that I was funny, and talented. And that belief took on a life of it’s own. I could no longer sit quietly in a group of people- sipping vodka and zoning out. I was now an Improv Actor and was infinitely more interesting than whoever I was with.

Oh, did you think you had a funny story about your job? Why don’t you give me the outline, and I’ll retell it and sprinkle in some fart jokes and a Yul Brenner impersonation. Or better yet, why don’t you just quiet down and let me tell several funny stories about my job. That way we all know for sure we’ll be entertained. Oh, did you want to run our weekly team meeting at work? Ok fine, but I hope you’re prepared for my hilarious snide comments and spot-on sound effects throughout. Why don’t you just ditch the power point presentation, and I’ll tell the story about the time I didn’t wear underwear to work and split my pants. Trust me, it kills every time.

The Improv Affect has left me like a wild animal. Or to revisit a metaphor; I’m still a monkey at a wine tasting, but I have torn off my diaper and am crapping on the fois grois. I’m swinging from the chandelier and hooting. I’m not trying to be disruptive, I’m just trying to entertain you. And me. Mostly me though, because I get bored easily. And I secretly think I’m funnier than you.