Oh New York, New York

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• June 17, 2024

My days have been far from usual, even the usual ones. And I admit I spend far too much time sleeping, though I justify it by telling myself that if I’m sleeping, I’m not spending money. Additionally, sleep is one of the big factors of looking young, as our bodies do most their healing when we are slumbering.

Like most days, I woke up late again. I do hate myself a little for it, knowing damn well that many of the best writers woke early to got right to it (albeit Hunter S. who woke up around 1pm, and alternated cocaine and booze before writing well into the night). But today I did have two jobs. I had jokes to submit for ‘Gutfeld!’ and I was also going to be working an event at a private school on the Upper East Side. A friend of mine books these catering gigs, and it’s pretty good money for how easy it is. Usually you’re pouring drinks or passing food, and truthfully, no one wants to be at these events so they don’t last very long.

A couple of my jokes would be used on the show, but not this one which I thought was pretty good: “Caitlyn Clark was NOT selected to play in the Olympics this summer. Geez. What does a girl have to do to get attention as a basketball player in this country? Smuggle weed to Russia?”

Around 3pm, I put on black pants and a black button down and drive into the city (yeah, I own a car in NYC, because I USED to be a moderately successful writer, remember?). It’s the same routine. We set up the room, and then guests come, blah, blah, blah, clean up. You get it.

Upon leaving my apartment, I checked my mail box where I found a belated birthday card from a ex. This stirred mixed emotions within me, and I kind of wanted to go back inside, hug a pillow and process it but, alas, I had to go be a caterer which was already bruising my ego.

There was a main room that became overcrowded and a bit too warm for anyone’s comfort. But there was also a roof top bar that for some reason no one really knew about. Though the rooftop was certainly a better hang than the main room, I was avoiding it because there was a relatively fresh dead bird up there, and I always take dead birds as a bad omen. Additionally, I’m not paid to pick up dead things and I don’t want to be case zero of bird flu in New York City, so I ignored it. But it was on my  mind.

Once upon a time, I was a hopeful student (well, I may not have been hopeful, but I was promising). A 4.0 GPA student. Someone should warn these kids about the AI that is going to take all the jobs. The dead bird being a clear sign of this.

In the crowded main room where parents, students and faculty were fanning themselves from the heat, one of the teachers read a poem featuring all the students names. Wait. It gets worse. It was a rhyming poem. It was awful. Is this woman teaching literature? My god. I’ve seen better writing on bathroom stalls.

When it comes to mindless jobs, I have a pretty good knack for tuning things out. So I tried to not think about how I felt like a loser, or the dead bird, or that I still harbored feelings for ex, and rather think of punchlines for news headlines which I would still have to finish once I got home.

The event winds down, and people are pretty quick to get the fuck outta there. As are we, the staff, who readily cleans up. I go to the rooftop bar to see what’s going on up there, since we’d basically been ignoring it since no one was going up there. On the roof top there was a lone couple, and the woman says to me, “why is no one up here?”

In an instance, I know who it is. It’s Tina Fey. One of my top 5 heroes. For a moment, I am stunned in my spectrum shy way. My brain reels.

Holy shit. It’s Tina Fey. Be cool. Be cool. Don’t come off as crazy or weird or like a loser. How do I be cool? Just do what your friends always tell you and don’t act socially autistic. Honestly, I’ve never understood what they meant by that. They mean don’t be yourself. I don’t know how to not be. You should tell her you’re a comedian. That you literally submitted your SNL packet YESTERDAY. No, no. Don’t tell her that. Look at yourself. You’re a literal waiter in this moment. Remember, don’t look crazy. Make a joke about the dead bird. She would like that. Maybe say something like, ‘I think that dead bird over there killed itself after hearing that teacher’s poem.’ It’s mean, but funny, Tina is a master of mean jokes.

Instead, I smiled and told her and her husband (who is a composer) that I was a very big fan of them both and ran away. I was in awe to meet my idol, but I wish it was under a different circumstance. Like I wish it was one of the times I was opening for Colin Quinn and then Colin would say something like, “this is Lori, she’s a very funny comedian and writer.” (Actually, that exact scenario is how I met Seinfeld). What’s better than one of your heroes endorsing you to another one of your heroes?

When I go home, internally, I’m swirling with too many emotions.  But I still have to finish writing jokes. What a life. One minute busing tables, the next being a late night joke writer. One day selling pictures of your feet, the next telling jokes in a theater.

That night, I nestle myself into bed, hugging a pillow, as comfortable and quiet as a dead bird on a rooftop.