I work in New York City on a regular basis, at a comedy club in the theater district just off Broadway. It’s 24 steps from Times Square to be exact. But once you walk through the door and down the steps into the dark dinginess of the joint, you might as well be in another world. The operative color is black: the paint on the walls, the ceiling, the floors, the clothes worn by the staff and the humor. Black. Some of the comics are black comics, and most of them are really funny, very smart and pretty busy.

It is not an easy place to work. First, there is no “typical” audience, because it varies night-to-night, show-to-show, minute-to-minute. There are tourists from Europe, tourists from Middle America and tourists from the Bronx who are in the city for a night of fun and drama. Alcohol flows freely. The comedians work “blue.” Profanity is the punchline-of-choice, and as the night wears on the comedy becomes more vulgar and obscene, in the “anything to get a laugh” context. Some of the acts have done the talk show circuit (Letterman, Conan, Kimmel, etc), while others never will and don’t care.

The club owner, booker and head guy is an Italian-American male in his late-40s, who has 100% authority regarding what goes in the drinks (a lot of ice/water), what goes on stage and who gets what spots in each show. He’s outgoing, bigger-than-life (literally and figuratively – he weighs at least 340 pounds and is 5’11” tall), and he’s openned a new room this summer a block or two from this club. His first words to me when we met: “I have a gun in my desk. Wanna see?” His oldest son from his first marriage works for him as a bartender. He has two very young daughters with his current wife. He is in the business to make money, and after that he honestly doesn’t care what happens on stage, regardless.

I would characterize my relationship with him as “good.” We are painfully honest with one another. Example: after a set I did in May, I find him in the lobby talking with someone “in the business” – could be an agent, a producer, another comic or a writer – and he motions me over. I walk up to the two of them. He pats me on the back. “This is Taylor Mason,” he announces to the man he’s talking to as well as to the rest of the place, “He’s the greatest unknown comic in the country! Could have been a star but gave that up to have a family!” He laughs loudly in my face. I smile. This is what comedy clubs are: only the truth is truly funny. He knows the heartbreaking reality of my career, and the addiction I have to it. There is no reason for me to play a club like this, other than the fact that showbiz is my mistress, and she doesn’t care for me any more than she cares for all the other wannabes. His shoulder-to-cry-on is as cold as the beer he serves, if I were to come out and tell him the whole story. Which I won’t. Instead I laugh along. “Hey, do you hear me complaining?” I ask. “Now gimme my $60.”

I did three sets for him that night and made 60 bucks. I had to “close” one of the shows, which means I’m on stage as the wait staff hands out the checks. It is the toughest spot in the line-up, usually 5-6 comics in any 90-minute show, and I often get that spot because I can handle the wait staff talking loudly in the middle of my jokes: “No, sir, you did not order a Coke. You drank five Manhattans.” The comics earn $20 per set, and some guys do six sets in a night. On the weekends the pay is a little better, and if you organize your schedule well you can make $500 playing clubs in New York City on any single weekend night.

I stand out in New York City comedy clubs. For one thing, I’m an upper-middle-class white guy. I also use props (a major “no-no” in comedy clubs). I keep my act squeaky-clean, even in the late-night shows, and I stay out of the bedroom and bathroom for material. And, I can say this with all sincerity: I’m one of (maybe) three comics in New York City who are “Christian.” I rarely see the others. I never see the most popular Christian comics in any of the clubs from coast-to-coast. Not surprising. Why would anyone put him/herself through this?

A couple of odd things about working this place – the audiences never know that I am not “dirty.” I’m punchline-intensive, so that makes up for the lack of coarse words and premises. I also use puppets, which is a great prop in a place where nobody else uses props. And I’ve been doing this for a while, so I know how to handle almost every situation. Bad crowd, good crowd, no laughs, lots of laughs, it’s all the same to me. I go on. I present my routine. I thank them for their time and I leave. Gimme my $20.

Some of the comics are very funny. You can see the ones who are “on their way,” young guys with high-powered agents and management, constantly auditioning for movie and TV roles, as well as appearing on the hot TV shows of today. But for every one of those there are another 50 who will never rise above this $20-per-set career.

It’s funny that everyone conforms to the same “type” of act, and the comedy premises are very basic: sex and drugs rule; lots of anti-Republican, anti-conservative comedy; and if the jokes aren’t funny, they’ve all learned how to use the “comedy adjectives” (my term) which is a kind of bail-out for comedians. Can’t be funny? Insert a 4-letter word. Boom! We have a joke! I’ve been watching this for my entire professional career, and it’s the same today as it was in the 1980’s. If you cannot be funny, be dirty. If you cannot be dirty, be filthy. If you can’t be filthy, be raunchy, and so on…

I can tell you this: none of the comics “get” me. There are guys from the inner city, dowdy women from Jersey doing all-sex jokes, fat men doing fat jokes, gay comics doing gay jokes, Jewish comics (why do all Jewish comics feel compelled to tell the audience they’re Jewish?), Italian-American comics, Irish-American comics, Puerto Rican comics, Italian-Irish-Puerto Rican-comics and everything in between.

Oh, and there’s me.

Occasionally, and it seems like more and more, the comedians approach me. I’m an anomaly – someone who plays the club and goes on the road, has a family, pays my bills, has a house in the ‘burbs, a career and a somewhat “normal” life. I cannot explain what I do and how I do it even when I try. They can’t get past their own hang-ups and the fact that, in our business, YOU are the product.

I am talking offstage with a white, high school educated, 30-ish comic from Queens, New York. He wants to know how to get booked in Vegas or for bigger money gigs. His act is “urban,” a euphemism for “black.” In other words, he is a white guy doing “black” material. This plays very well in the New York clubs as you might imagine, and his jokes center on how “white” white people are, how he grew up surrounded by black people, plus lots of anti-gay jokes. He can’t see that his act plays to one kind of audience – New York/New Jersey – and he’s doing the same thing over and over with the same result.

I try and explain how I work, how I write, how I try and deal with different clientele in different arenas. I can’t get my point across. “You’re saying I should just do a cheesy comedy act so everyone likes me? I can’t do that!” he says, “I do what I do, and if someone doesn’t like it, ______ ‘em.” Yes, he has insulted me. No, I don’t care. He doesn’t understand anything beyond this little underground club we’re standing in with the exorbitant drink prices and crummy sound system.

“Taylor!” The emcee for the current show is running toward us, interrupting our conversation. “Can you go on next? I’m missing a comic!” The Queens guy looks at the emcee and looks at me. “What’s the crowd like?” he asks.

“They’re great!” says the emcee.

“Hey, I’ll go on,” says Mr. Queens.

“No,” I say, thinking ahead, “I have to leave in 45 minutes.” I look at Queens. “I’ll keep my set short and sweet, and you can go on after me.” Everyone is happy. I go on. I rock. I get my money and stop at the all-night health food store on 8th Avenue, and pick up some fruit and a sports drink for the drive home. I’ll be back here tomorrow. I have a new joke to try…

Taylor Mason is a comedian, a musician, a ventriloquist, writer and gadget freak. He has headlined every major comedy club in the United States, and has played Carnegie Hall and The Sydney Opera House in Australia. He has been part of two Emmy-winning television programs, including his children’s TV show, “Taylor’s Attic.” He is featured in comedy DVDs “Thou Shalt Laugh,” “Thou Shalt Laugh 2” , “Thou Shalt Laugh 3,” and “Thou Shalt Laugh 4“  plus two episodes of the hit comedy series “Bananas.” Taylor works a mind-boggling 200 nights a year, in front of every kind of audience, and has managed to stay married for the past 22 years to his wife, Marsia. They have two teen-aged sons and live in New Jersey (the only state in America that uses air freshener … outdoors).

To book Taylor for your event contact visit The Grable Group or email tim@thegrablegroup.com

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