Allow Me to Just Step Over HERE

Quite a few years back, my then-boyfriend Jim and I were in downtown Los Angeles to partake in a favorite pastime, live theater. As we wandered the plaza, enjoying the kind of evening only Southern California can provide, we noticed two ladies, probably in their early 80s, walking in front of us. As they approached the steps mid-plaza, one of the ladies lost her footing and started to teeter. We gasped. In slow motion, we watched as she reached out to her friend for help, subsequently pulling both of them down to the pavement, bam! 

“Oh no!” we exclaimed aloud, albeit for different reasons. Whereas Jim and another gentleman went dashing to help these grannies out of concern, my “oh no” meant something more like, “Oh no, now um, let’s just pretend that didn’t happen… allow me to just turn my back on these ladies like I didn’t even see it and, oh look, discover something non-existent on the wall over here that’s just fascinating,” which is exactly what transpired. 

An airline pilot, Jim’s personality is hard-wired to deal with a crisis and confront it head on. After helping the ladies up and assessing all was okay, imagine his surprise to find he was performing this altruistic task alone, for I was still rooted to the spot where we’d first witnessed the fall, a good 30 feet away, kind of facing the opposite direction.

“What the hell?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I just… couldn’t,” I replied, feebly.

Jim had just witnessed one of Joe’s classic I’ve-Got-to-Leave-The-Room moments. Even though there was no official “room” to be “left,” there I was, still trying to leave and be anywhere else. 

A short time after, Jim witnessed another episode during a Stephen Sondheim celebration concert we attended at the Hollywood Bowl. As stars like Anne Hathaway, Bernadette Peters, Eric McCormack and others came out for final bows together, we watched Angela Lansbury catch her foot on a mic cable and boom, ungracefully fall to the stage floor. Sixteen thousand people all went from mad cheering to a gigantic, “Ooooooh!” at the same time as a beloved then-almost-80-year-old woman hit the deck. How embarrassing and awful for her. Of course all the normal people kept their eyes on the stage to see how she was. I put my hands over my face and placed my butt back in my seat so I couldn’t witness more.

“If you could’ve climbed over that hedge behind us, you would’ve,” Jim said, shaking his head. 

So what exactly constitutes a Have-to-Leave-the-Room moment, you ask?

A stand-up comedian or improv person is completely bombing up there. 

I’m not sure why it’s my responsibility to take on all their pain and shortcomings, but I do, and therefore this needs to be avoided at all costs just in case there’s the slightest whiff of them not being funny and making me uncomfortable. BE funny!!, otherwise you’re making me nervous!

Karaoke-as-an-activity, period. 

Do you remember the scene in My Best Friend’s Wedding when Julia Roberts connives to make Cameron Diaz’s character look bad in front of her fiancé by forcing her to do bad karaoke singing? That right there was a four-alarm Leave the Room Moment for me, even just on film! Thank Christ I saw that flick for the first time on DVD and could fast-forward through that queasiness! If I had been in the theater, popcorn would’ve been flying as I shoved my way out of the aisle for a fake bathroom break. 

That Figure Skater is about to attempt a Triple Axel

Is it just me? It can’t only be me. The tension as they approach every jump tears at my stomach lining – what if they FALL??!!? – and I just have to leave the room and not watch. Consequently I don’t get to see much competitive ice skating at all.

Betty-Jean’s About to Sing the National Anthem

I don’t watch a lot of sports, but if I do, I can guarantee you I won’t be arriving to my seat until after The Star Spangled Banner. Super Bowl Party? Cool, my majestic, well-timed arrival will be after the kickoff, when things are safe. That one time I arrived too early I was inexplicably in the kitchen, the margarita blender suddenly spinning during, “Oooo-oh say, can you see.” If those notes reaches the ear canal, you will have the unique pleasure of watching a panic race through my body. I’m not sure why. It could be bad associations with forced-patriotism, it could be that America the Beautiful should be our National Anthem instead of a song about the bombs bursting and the rockets red-glaring, or it could be that the I-want-to-be-on-American-Idol approach has ruined the song for me. 

The Doctor’s Waiting Room has a TV and The View is on

This is my one hundred percent definition of Hell. I will get up and hover by the door or wait out in the hallway and that receptionist can just come find me. Side note: the biggest nightmare for my future is being in some old-folks home or hospital where something like Keeping Up with the Kardashians is foisted on me, blaring out of some TV without my consent, all day long. Just end me, please.

That Sports Journalist is Interviewing an Athlete Post-Match Again

Roger Federer, you just spent three or four physically and mentally draining hours defeating your opponent, so congrats, here’s some lame person with a mic to ask you the same BS questions you’ve heard for 15 years after every match. I’m always amped to watch an entire tennis match with glee, but the moment Mary Jo Fernandez or some other schmo steps out there with a microphone, you can literally witness a dust cloud as I go flying out of the room like the Road Runner from Looney Tunes. No thank you!

You get the idea. Some of those are just not-fun situations to endure. Like when things go wrong during a live TV broadcast. Or anytime Liza Minnelli decides to speak – um yeah, I’ll just be over here, examining the egg salad… is she done talking yet?

So many friends rabidly live and die by award shows and yearly Oscar parties, and nothing feels more cringeworthy to me – all that fake patter and self-congratulatory muck – oooooh I just got the shivers. How can they take it in like candy, while I’m always squirming and have to stand in the back of the room, swaying back and forth, pretending to watch, hoping for it to just be over?

But allow me to now confess the one event that tops them all and takes I-Have-to-Leave-The-Room to a different level, and that is…. The Toasts at Weddings. 

Let’s go back to dear old Jim again…. Oh all the Joe-isms he witnessed first-hand over the years. We’d been invited to his pal Mark’s wedding in Portland, Oregon, and Jim was one of a trio of friends asked to give a toast. Naturally he was worried about it, trying to balance his humorous and heartfelt moments carefully. It was important to him and he appreciated my support at his side, as his significant other.

Apparently he gave a lovely speech, or so I’ve been told. Just before the time came for this ritual, I excused myself for a lengthy bathroom break that segued into a 15-minute linger over the wedding cake table, followed by a re-visit to the photo collages on the walls. Crisis averted.

“You didn’t even hear my speech, did you?” Jim asked, tracking me down by the dessert table. 

“No, but I’m sure it was great,” I countered. “Isn’t the cake unique?”

“You just left the room?” he asked, smirking. “Who does that?” 

He had a point, but this is the big one for me, folks. It doesn’t even have to be a real wedding. Do you know how many damn movie plotlines and TV episodes all hinge on speeches or toasts at weddings, and how many clichéd, predictable, dewy-eyed or unintended spill-the-bean plot-twists tumble out during the best friend or bridesmaid’s speech? That’s a lot of fast-forwarding for me to do! My poor fingers can’t grab the remote fast enough.

I’m not unromantic, it just triggers my flight response, which by the way, certainly didn’t serve me well as a cater-waiter when every other weekend’s gig was a wedding. My God, when I think of all the poor schmucks who missed out on coffee service at my tables over the years. “Sorry Phyllis, I know you’re the mother of the bride and all but my ass cannot be in the room during the toast, so flag down some other waiter please, I’m gonna pretend to search for something off the floor for a time corresponding exactly to all seven tipsy speeches, thanks so much.” I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!!

Did I mention I’m the guy who until recently thought anxiety wasn’t even a real thing?!? A psychologist would have a field day! 

I once had a therapist allude to this, saying, “The standup comedian who’s tanking has nothing to do with you. It’s not your responsibility to take care of them.” Well said, but not an easy mantra for a born-and-bred perfectionist. Add in a healthy dose of avoid-confrontation-at-all-costs and you’ve got a glimpse into my stunted-growth 20s and 30s.

When did it all start? I’d love to proudly claim these idiosyncrasies flew under the radar, but then I’m reminded of the high school best bud (another Jim, ironically) who once assembled a VHS tape for me senior year that he literally labeled, “Those Things That Joe Cannot Stand to Watch or Listen To.” Apparently there were glaring neuroses even then, like the off-key singers who made my shoulder blades slam together during rehearsals, or Act II of our high school production of Anything Goes, which showcased three boring or ill-conceived musical numbers in a row. By a godsend, my character wasn’t on stage for any of them, giving me the opportunity to hide offstage and pretend they weren’t even happening. 

“That Xylophone solo is so stupid during that number, right?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, I don’t really watch it,” I blurted. “It’s so painful I just have to look away.” 

“What?!” he demanded. 

“Same with the horrible “Blow Gabriel Blow,” I offered. “It’s so embarrassing. I’m sooooo glad I’m not onstage during that mess.” 

Hence, the VHS tape where he threw together all those moments Joe Can’t Stand to Watch or Listen To. I still don’t know if I ever perused it all the way through. 

Same story in 1996 when I was in a production of Gypsy – one of my favorite musicals – when I was the little snot who thought the woman playing our lead, Mama Rose, wasn’t up to par, so I chose to sit in a corner in the dressing room, as far away from the stage as possible, and cringe, cringe as she did her rendition of the final number. “It’s almost over, it’s almost over,” I’d inwardly chant, hoping I wasn’t guilty by association. I may’ve even put on Walkman headphones once or twice, who can say?

Rude much? And lemme tell ya, it’s not like my number in that show was perfection either.

And yet somehow I wanted to be a theater director?!!?? Can you imagine how counterintuitive it is for a guy with this personality quirk to be tasked with gently nuancing every moment and every performance when he can’t even keep his eyes open and has to bolt for the exit when something starts to go wrong?

What kind of ego does a guy have to have to imagine everything happening around him is a potential negative reflection on himself? 

Issues much??? Do you wanna perhaps get over yourself?

I used to convince myself the reaction to the bad comedian or the falling athlete was out of compassion and care, that I was a good person who just cared SO much.

Nope. Nada. Yo, mister control freak, that would be a big fat NO.

I’m just now realizing how many close friends have witnessed these quirks despite my best intentions. I’m also awakening to how much of life I felt I needed to miss or skip out on because it was too uncomfortable… and not perfect. 

But you’ll be pleased to know most of these examples are from at least a decade ago if not more, and that with age there’s been progress!, as evidenced by the new term my partner Eddie coined: Hanging in the Doorway, as in, “Are you having a Hang-In-the-Doorway moment, Joe?” I’m not fully leaving the room any longer, you see?… just sort of lingering in the doorway, halfway in, halfway out, so I have the option to bolt if that beautiful figure skater gal takes a tumble. Or possibly, just possibly, sit there and watch her fall and realize I’m okay and it has nothing to do with me. Baby steps.

But alas, when that day-drinking bridesmaid is clamoring for the mic, all bets are off.