It would be instructive to know what heavy equipment operators hooked on alcohol or drugs think about putting themselves and other workers, and the public, in peril. How do they rationalize it? What about members of the clergy, whose devotion and service are paid to their addictions, and who must suffer a disproportionate amount of guilt, especially regarding their hypocrisy?

Oddly, however, the most illuminating tales of addicted life come from a relatively tiny slice of the occupational spectrum: professional comedians. They are trained and uniquely primed to seek the universal. They look at everything through a microscope and/or a telescope. When a genius comedian gets hold of an idea, they will keep working on it until the thought that comes out of their head can go into someone else’s, with nothing lost in the transmission. A great comedian can express the ineffable and the numinous without ever having heard those words.

Drugs are rampant in the comedy world and always have been. Comedians and musicians discover them first, long before the general public. But in this country, alcohol has always been number one. In wide areas of the country, it has always been relatively easy to obtain, even during Prohibition (and no doubt in some places even easier then). There is the pioneer independence theme. A person can set up a homebrew whiskey still in the woods.

Like any other, the comedy profession comes with hazards, for which a drunk performer is ill-equipped. To show up late, fall off the stage, start a slap fight with an audience member, throw a drink in the club manager’s face — none of these actions will enhance the progress of a career. Few crowd members can relate to such shenanigans.

But the comedian’s saving grace is that she or he will exercise highly developed empathy to reach for the universal; in this case, for the aspects of alcoholism or other addiction that the audience can relate to. This ability to tune in to a wavelength is the trait that, according to legend, once earned Charlie Chaplin a 12-minute standing ovation. That honor has been awarded to many standup comedians, but to few corporate executives.

The approval so generously heaped on comedians is the audience’s way of saying, “You are just like us, except for one thing. You express how it feels so much more eloquently than we could ever hope to.” Their ability to identify and detoxify dark thoughts that vex the ordinary person is what allows certain comedians to fill 20,000-seat arenas, even for many successive nights.

Journalist Don Steinberg once noted,

The Guinness Book of World Records lists a 2008 show by German comic Mario Barth — 70,000 fans at Berlin’s Olympiastadion — as the biggest live comedy audience ever.

Larry the Cable Guy and Kevin Hart have both played to audiences of over 50,000. Such popularity is not surprising. A comic will say anything. For instance, she — and we’re talking about May Wilkerson here — might offer such romantic advice as the following (and please visualize quotation marks drawn with two fingers of each hand):

Dating tip: People who say they like “spontaneity” & “adventure” actually like “drinking.”

A previous post cited a rehab center veteran who warned a newbie that, in many cases, addiction will simply jump from one habit to another, like a rat from a sinking ship onto anything that floats. It seems that very often the person is unable to totally escape habituation, and the best they can do is switch to a less dangerous substance. AA meeting attendees are famous for developing too sincere an interest in doughnuts.

Comedian Marc Maron has been free from cocaine and alcohol for many years, but got hooked on nicotine in the form of lozenges and such. Earlier this year he admitted to the audience of his podcast, WTF, how he “spiraled out, hit the wall again with the nicotine,” and then described the rationalization process. The addictive mind says, “Hey nicotine’s good for my brain.” Then the rational mind steps in to point out,

Hey, you’re sweating, dude, you’re taking weird nauseous naps. You’re falling asleep with a nicotine lozenge in your mouth, which you could choke on. Or a pouch, [a]nd you’ve been through this before, dude.

The important lesson, at this juncture, is that the withdrawal process is no longer physical but mental. That epiphany opens up a whole new can of worms:

Whenever you self-medicate with whatever it is, even if it’s exercise or food, when you stop it then the dam breaks and everything that you’ve been keeping at bay emotionally, it comes right up. And then you’ve gotta decide what to do with it.

Written by Pat Hartman. First published November 1, 2024.

Sources:

“No Joke: Comedians Fill Giant Stadiums,” The Wall Street Journal, August 27, 2015.

“WTF #1501,” WTFPod.com, January 8, 2024.

Image Copyright: Paul Hudson/Attribution 2.0 Generic.