Friday, November 21, 1997
Comedy that stops traffic
COMEDY: … traffic violators, that is. Stand-up comics find
traffic school a prime forum for humor.
By Jeremy Engel
Daily Bruin Contributor
Saturday night: A comedian steps on stage as the lights go down
in a smoky theater. People sit at tables, sipping cocktails. The
comedian grabs the microphone and goes off on a 15-minute stream of
dirty jokes while patrons flag down the waitress for another round
of Rob Roys.
Sunday morning: The same comedian walks into a classroom and
squints under the buzzing glow of fluorescent lights. Traffic
violators sit at desks, sipping coffee and orange juice. The
comedian steps up to the dry-erase board at the front of the room
and greets everyone while students review their citations.
As an adjunct to conventional comedy-club performances, teaching
traffic school has become one of the steadiest gigs in town for
stand-up comedians looking to earn a paycheck and perform in front
of a real-live crowd.
"It’s a great way to try out new material, because people sit
for eight hours with nothing to do but listen," says Mark Sweeney,
a comedian for the past eight years and a traffic-school instructor
for the past three months. "All comics come out to L.A. to do
television and film, and they find that traffic school’s not a bad
gig." In addition to teaching classes at the Improv Traffic School,
Sweeney has appeared on Comedy Central and has performed live at
clubs such as Hornblower’s in Ventura.
"Becoming a traffic-school instructor is one of the best things
I’ve ever done for stand-up. It’s a great way to develop new
material because you’re in front of these people for so long, you
have to make them laugh or they’ll fall asleep," explains Dean
Larit, who has been teaching traffic school for about a year. "I
got out of stand-up for a while, and when I started to get back
into it, all my friends were great. I asked them, ‘Hey, how’d you
get so good?’ and they told me, ‘From teaching traffic
school.’"
"I like to think of a comedian as an instrument, and teaching
traffic school keeps me tuned up," says comedian and traffic-school
instructor Kent Kasper. "Comedians get exposure and money, and
people get to have a good time. Plenty of producers, directors and
industry people have to attend traffic school, so it’s a good way
to make contacts."
After serving as an assistant district attorney in New York for
two years, Kasper gave up on the legal world and headed west to do
stand-up. "My goal is to be a character actor on a sitcom," he
says.
Kasper and Larit have performed locally at the Improv, Igbee’s
(now closed), the Ice House, and Masquer’s Cafe, and have appeared
on "The Tonight Show." They both teach about six traffic-school
classes a month for the Improv Traffic School.
Reed Berry, known professionally as "The Traffic Guy," believes
that teaching traffic school gives comedians an opportunity to
perform in a dwindling comedy market. "Stand-up ain’t what it used
to be. Things have definitely changed since the big comedy boom in
the 1980s. Everyone wants to be the next Drew Carey or Ellen
Degeneres, but there’s a real imbalance with supply and demand."
Berry hosted a comedy radio program before turning to the Improv
Traffic School, and he has appeared on television shows such as
"Crook & Chase" and "Eye to Eye with Connie Chung."
Different factors draw comedians into the role of traffic
instructor. Larit became an instructor for the practice. "It’s
baptism by fire. People come to a comedy club to laugh. They’re
drunk, they have dates, and they’re happy. On the flip side, at
traffic school, you’ve got 35 or 40 people who’ve paid hundreds of
dollars for a traffic ticket, they’re blowing the weekend, and they
don’t want to be there. If I can make them laugh, think of what I
can do at a club."
For Sweeney, a major draw to teach traffic school was
convenience. "I had a great time on the road, but then I got
married," he says. "With a few hours of training, 3 classes,
watching some videos and reading some books, I got certified to
teach traffic school. Since I had driven 190,000 miles over my
career doing comedy on the road, I felt pretty qualified."
Not all comedians feel so confident about their proficiency in
an automobile. "My friends tell me I’m the worst driver they know,"
admits Kasper. He affirms that this does not impair his ability as
a traffic-school instructor. "You do your best, make people laugh
and at the end of the day, most everyone goes home smiling."
Comedy-club hosts and hostesses at the Laugh Factory, the
Improv, Masquer’s Cafe and the Ice House claim to have no idea
which stand-up comedians teach traffic school on the side. Does
this mean comics like to keep their traffic personas hidden in the
closet?
"No, I wouldn’t say other comedians look down on you if you
teach traffic school or anything," says Sweeney. "It helps as far
as performing. You feel more and more casual on stage after you’ve
been in front of a group of people for a full day each week."
Larit emphasizes this. "Other comedians used to poke a little
fun at the guys who taught traffic school, but they always shut up
when we blow ’em off the stage."
Kasper agrees and views his job as a pleasure as well as a way
to pay the bills. "I think I’d still teach traffic school even if I
got rich. People would enjoy being taught by a recognizable
personality, and it’s so hard to make money in this town, I’m very
appreciative of anyone who gives you a job."
Employee loyalty isn’t the only motivation in Kasper’s plan to
remain an instructor. "If I see a pretty girl getting a ticket on
the side of the road, there’s a good chance I’ll be teaching her in
traffic school."
"There are other traffic schools out there that claim to be
comedy traffic schools – but don’t have real comedians teaching the
classes," says Berry.
Putting a real comedian in front of a traffic class can bring
problems in the way of vulgar material, but few catastrophes ever
arise. Traffic instructors admit to using caution when spouting
potentially dirty comedy.
"If I get a little dirty, I always tell the class, ‘If at any
point this gets offensive, please raise your hand,’" says Kasper.
"If 39 out of 40 people have no problem with the material, and one
person raises their hand, that means I have to change a few
things."
"I’m absolutely aware of that kind of thing," says Larit. "You
have to be very accommodating if someone is even slightly
uncomfortable with what you’re saying."
Whatever they’re doing, it’s working. Motorists who may have
faltered a bit and received a citation can look forward to a day of
laughter and learning under the instruction of a comedian. For
people with impeccable driving records in the mood for a laugh this
weekend, check out one of these clubs. Or, hit the road and get a
traffic ticket.