I am hired to Stevens Point, Wisconsin, to do an after dinner show for a gathering of an association of Wisconsin folk that provide used automobile parts from vast yards of dead automobile hulks. Perhaps you've seen them along county roads, huge fields of tall grass and even taller fences, surrounding what's left of cars that have met ignominious deaths and who are now defended by vicious dobermans trained to leave you in need of parts should you stray into their territory.
Sometime during the predictable meal of fried chicken, roast beef, mashed potatoes, canned gravy and overcooked green beans, my employer leans in close to my ear and says quietly: "Whatever you do, don't call them junk dealers."
"Okay. What are they?"
"They are automobile recyclers."
I digest that with a staight face, no easy task.
Just as the lemon bars and coffee are being served, I see him, suit clad, making his way through the side entrance and up to the head table.
It's his turn to lean in, this time to the ear of my employer and I overhear him saying something about how he is a politician of some sort, and is there anyone due to speak after the dinner as he needs to speak to his constituents.
My employer points out that there is "just a comedian" so the suit announces that the comedian can wait. He will keep it short.
The employeer agrees even though I have emphasized in the contract that I will forego the cost of a room for the night if I am allowed to go on right after dinner. The message I have already overheard is passed on to me and I am somewhat peeved.
Mr. Politico launches into his "short" 40 minute presentation and keeps nervously referring to the fact that there is a comedian on the bill so he'd better be careful (ha, ha). By the fourth time he mentions me yet again, I know what my opening remarks will be.
He finishes, and because he is a very busy man, he exits the room quickly via the same door he entered. I find this disappointing in lieu of what I have to say, but, oh well.
I am introduced and I speak into the mic:
"I understand that I am not supposed to call you junk dealers. You are automobile recyclers. Gee, I guess that makes me a laughter therapist. No, actually, you are junk dealers, I am a comedian, but that guy that just left? He's a professional bullshitter."
I can only hope the suit could hear the roar of laughter as he made his way down the hall.
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