How I Got Started in Stand-up Comedy
(Part 1)

The Origin

I first started doing stand-up comedy sometime in 2015. It’s hard to know exactly when I started because I didn’t keep good records back then. I never thought it would matter. It was just something I did.

I was going through a very difficult depression in late 2014. I had lost my job, the house I was going to buy fell through (because I lost my job), my girlfriend had left me, and I was living with my parents in Oroville again. It was a downward spiral that seemed endless at the time.

In an attempt to snap out of my funk, I decided to start doing the things that scared me. I started by doing karaoke. Singing in front of strangers terrified me. But I kept going and started to find joy in it.

At my old job at the TV station, I had worked with a guy who was a local stand-up comedian in Chico. I was always asking him questions about it. He was always insightful and really encouraged me to give it a try. I was hesitant at first, but I had always been a comedy fan and had always thought about trying it someday.

Then they started an open mic at the same bar I would go to for karaoke. I was already comfortable there, so I figured I’d give it a try.

The First Open Mic

This was my first time performing stand-up comedy at an open mic in Chico, California.

I wrote down some stories that I would tell at parties and get laughs from. Funny stories about hanging out with my friends and our shenanigans, stories about growing up in Oroville, stories about traveling the country, and a couple of jokes that I thought were clever (spoiler alert: they weren’t).

I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I didn’t invite anyone. I drove by myself.

I got to the bar way too early. The vibes were not great. It was a dark, mostly empty bar. A few TVs hung around the room, and a bunch of old regulars were scattered about watching the baseball game. I sat at the bar and ordered a Manhattan. I needed something strong to calm my nerves.

After a little while, the host arrived and slowly started setting up the stage, the speakers, the microphone. Then he put out the list.

I walked up and introduced myself. I explained that it was my first time doing stand-up and that I was nervous. He was nice, but not exactly encouraging. He just kind of shrugged and said, “Alright, put your name on the list. You get five minutes, and I’ll shine a light at you when you have one minute left.”

I put my name near the bottom of the empty list and found a table in the back corner.

I was panicking.

I hadn’t practiced at all. Everything was from memory. I had no idea if my stories would actually be funny to a room full of strangers. Could I even tell them in under five minutes?

Then a few other comedians walked in. I didn’t get up to talk to any of them. I just sat in my corner sweating.

The open mic started a few minutes later. It was a rough room. Several of the regulars were upset about turning off the baseball game. I sat through a few performers. Some were great. Most were terrible. A few people who signed up were regulars who knew you got a free drink if you performed. It made for some very uncomfortable sets.

Then it was my turn.

The Performance

The host came up to me and said, “Alright Rickey, you’re on next.” I nodded and got up to walk toward the stage.

It was a small platform at the back of the room with a microphone and a stool. The host grabbed the mic and said, “Alright, make some noise for your next comic coming to the stage: Rickey Dean!” and walked off.

I stepped up, took the mic out of the stand, and looked out at the room.

I could feel my whole body shaking.

I don’t remember exactly what I said. I don’t remember how I opened, or how I tried to structure it. I know I started with one of those stories that usually worked at parties. It did not work here.

I remember the silence.

I remember scrambling for the next line, hoping it would land.

I remember losing my train of thought.

And realizing that five minutes is a lot longer when you’re on stage.

There were very few laughs, if any. Mostly awkward silences and uncomfortable stares. I kept trying to push forward, trying to find something that would work, but nothing did.

Eventually, my time was up.

I walked off stage, went back to my seat, and immediately finished my Manhattan.

I was sweating, shaking, and embarrassed.

I had bombed.

The Moral of the Story

But I was proud of myself. I had done it.

I felt a strange mix of emotions - humiliated, terrified, but also exhilarated. I had taken the first step, whatever that means.

I stayed for the last couple of comics, then headed home. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone. I didn’t talk to anyone. I just wanted to get out of there.

On my 30-minute drive back to Oroville, I kept thinking about it.

I knew it hadn’t gone well, but I kept wondering:

What would I have had to do to do well? How did the comedians who did well do it? Was it just that they were funnier than me? Am I not funny? How do they write jokes? How do I write jokes?

A million questions ran through my head the entire drive home.

What did they know that I didn’t?

I was hooked. I had to know.