ediburgh pt. 3
is there a lesson here?
I’m posting the third part of this story because it contains a tip—specifically about performance.
edinburgh pt. 1
edinburgh pt. 2
Something this friend said lit me up. I spent the next 24 hours studying my script, adding more jokes and rehearsing the rewrites over and over.
I read my words over and over, asking how can this be funnier? How can this be performed? Where are the parts of the show that could involve the audience more?
The next night, we resumed performances to a full house. A reviewer attended that night and part of me was terrified. What if he was friends with the hecklers and came to tear us down? What if he hated us even more than the hecklers did?
But I arrived at the venue well-rested, energized and feeling confident about my script updates, and I knew all I could do was try them out.
The added jokes seemed to work. Instead of polite smiles, my story was getting actual laughs and real connection. People were relating to what I was saying.
One of the hecklers said that what we were doing felt very American. That people in the U.K. weren’t as disillusioned by the corporate working world as we are. (In 2026, I’m not sure if that’s still true, but I digress.)
So I added a joke that was less about my working situation and more about people and personalities. At one point, I talked about Trader Joe’s. They don’t have Trader Joe’s in the U.K. so I compared it to Tesco… with cashiers in Hawaiian shirts who always seem like they want to f*ck.
I couldn’t believe how much more seamless this version of the show was. Something finally clicked.
I have a feeling that some of you reading this thought this third part would be a takedown of the drunk couple, but if it weren’t for them, I may have missed out on two very important lessons about being a performer (I likely would have learned it eventually without them because it’s inevitable but…):
1. You owe paying audience members your absolute best.
I told you, I arrived Saturday night, beyond exhausted. I had spent all of my energy, performing two shows in the morning and afternoon, standing in line to “meet the media”*, and flyering and talking to people in the evening. By the time I got to the venue, I could barely keep my eyes open.
During that terrible performance, I was a sleepwalking zombie and the hecklers' reactions, while rude, were justified. They’d paid money to see a comedy show and I just didn’t deliver.
2. The work never stops.
About 10 years ago, I was on two different sketch comedy teams. After we finished a show, we’d get notes. With one group, they’d come via email 2-3 days after the show, which I liked. With another group, we’d get them in the hallway directly after the show ended.
I hated this at the time. I thought, “Why are you offering us feedback when the show’s done? It’s not happening again and I just want to bask in it being over.”
But it’s because the work doesn’t stop. If you want to get better, you have to do better. Even if you’re not doing the same sketch again, you learn in the moment what did not work about it, so you don’t make the same mistake in the next show.
Now, am I saying that I never had a bad show ever again? No. Absolutely not. I actually had one very, very low moment at a show this past April. I’ll do a post about that later.
What I’m saying is that if you’re not willing to try to give your absolute best, which includes taking care of yourself in order to do your absolute best, and if you’re not willing to continue to learn and improve, you may as well just quit and be one of the drunk hecklers. (I am not condoning being a drunk heckler. They are the scum of the earth.)
And I guess I should add the caveat that you can give your best and still get heckled. If that happens, IDK what to tell you besides “Better luck next time and fuck ‘em.”
I know you’re wondering what happened with the reviewer—and if standing in line for all those hours actually paid off. Stay tuned…