Next joke on me

Some of the very best stories I have to tell are in the "most embarrassing moments" category, although I have to admit I found them pretty darned funny even when they happened. For instance:

Those of you who don't know me all that well may not be aware that I spent five years of my life in the entertainment industry. Back in the sixties, when the "laugh-In" show was king, and go-go clubs were popping up everywhere, and it was still illegal to bare it all (I am eternally grateful for that), I was a showgirl and sometime comedienne at a very fancy night club in Chicago. I learned a lot of my current people skills working in that place, and I learned a heck of a lot about myself.

The club I worked in most of that time was owned by two very proper Japanese gentlemen, who were always careful to maintain an appropriate and professional atmosphere. All of us in the show were cautious to do our very best at keeping the audience happy, while keeping ourselves safe. For those of you who are dying to know, there were no poles, and dancing on the bar or tables was strictly prohibited.

We had a substantial stage on which to do our thing, and a talented band to back us up. The live music gave us a lot of energy, even at the end of a night (usually about 4 a.m.). When we had a good audience, and the band was having fun, were were nothing short of spectacular.

One of the girls in the show was a fabulous, burlesque-style stripper named Vicki. A statuesque blonde with a dazzling smile, she could do more with a bunch of veils than anyone I've seen before or since. On the night in question, it was my job to follow Vicki, and throw a little comedy into what was a decent, but standard dance routine. She had been absolutely spectacular in her turn, and I was pumped and ready to go.

Ready to go in this club meant you had to get from the dressing room to the stage, which was no small feat. You had to go through a bunch of tables on a raised platform, down a few stairs, across the front of the full length of the bar, through a few more tables, up a couple of steps, and then start your routine. I was so ready to knock 'em dead that I literally ran the full distance.

It was when I made that last turn that things started to go wrong. Ignoring the steps, I leaped for the stage and caught the toe of my shoe on the very edge of the last step. With the full momentum of my lengthy gallop behind me, I went flat on my face and slid the full length of the stage on my belly.

Now here's where it gets interesting. I realized, very quickly, that I had a choice to make. I could lie there and start bawling, which would certainly be understood by those present as a reasonable alternative. I could stand up , brush myself off, and spend the next few minutes picking splinters out of my stomach. Neither of those options seemed particularly acceptable in the rules of showmanship.

What I did do, quickly but carefully, was lift up my head, smile at the very confused and anxious young man sitting next to the corner of the stage, and say, "I always like to start off with a bang!"

I honestly forget the rest of the show, but with that smile and comment I knew I had the audience on my side, and they were terrific from there on. It took my poor belly a bit longer to recover!

I think there is a life lesson in there somewhere. I have always been a glass-half-full, make-lemonade sort of person, and I would much rather laugh at something than sit and feel sorry for myself. I don't have any great insight into how I got that way; it just seems to have shown up on the list of my personality characteristics.

That's not, however, the only point. From that moment on I have thought carefully about what I present to the world around me, whether it be class content in a Sociology lecture, a therapy session for an adult addiction unit, or a corporate presentation. In any situation where life demands a performance, I am determined to start off with a bang.

So far it's working!