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http://www.theage.com.au/news/entertainment/bmetrob-budding-comedians-still-have-to-pay-the-bills/2008/03/10/1205125818886.html

Not giving up their day jobs

March 11, 2008
Waiting to hit the big time, budding comedians still have to pay the bills, writes Daniel Ziffer.

THEY could be serving you lunch or programming your PC. And you could become fodder for their stand-up routine.
Most comedians can't support themselves with their calling, turning to the often dry world of "real" work to fund their dreams.

The stars of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival are teachers, community workers, or retail assistants by day, revealing their passions on stage at night.
Dave Adams and Ernie Austin, from musical duo ElbowSkin, have worked in high-end restaurants in Port Douglas, Broome and Melbourne. Currently they're at The Court House in North Melbourne.

"We've been very lucky with the people we've worked for," Austin says. "If you're going to run a business well in hospitality you've got to know that people often have other aspirations."

You can normally find Austin front of house, with Adams working the bar.
At the moment they're in Adelaide - working in a restaurant each day, performing every night - having fled their Melbourne jobs to use South Australia as a test for their Adelaide Festival show.

It's part of a process which begins in job interviews, when the pair outline their long-standing comedic plans.
"(The Court House) are probably in all sorts of bother because both of us will be gone for 20 days," he says, laughing.

Or not: the last two restaurants Austin has worked in, Langtons and Upper House, have closed.
"I brought 'em down," he jokes. "So if you want a Court House experience, book now."

Nelly Thomas has performed twice at the Edinburgh Fringe and five times in Melbourne's festival.

Her audience recently expanded by one - eight-month-old, three-toothed daughter Rose - and now Thomas has a new job "for the next, what, 30 years or so".

As she mixes work with the Raw Comedy talent competition and prepares for 20 performances of ... Is Not A Yummy Mummy in MICF, Thomas says she's had it easy.
Comparatively.
"Because you're home during the day, by the time I need to leave she's in bed," Thomas says, which removed the dilemma of how to care for her baby.

"Sure I feel like I'm basically in a coma from tiredness and I'm not going to pretend it's easy, but we try and balance it all and hope she doesn't turn out a serial killer."
Hours spent labouring are put to use on stage, comics say, with moments of monotony used to refine jokes and segments. Call centre and cafe work is popular with performers due to its flexibility. Repetitive tasks often fuel routines based on their, at-times, numbing nature.

But not all employers are happy for their workers to splay open the inner workings of their business. Several artists contacted by The Age were not allowed to discuss their work and comedy in the same breath.
Project manager Dave Bushell works for IT firm Vital Software and defines his job as "negotiating with developers and spending a lot of time looking at spreadsheets".

The pressure of office work often conflicts with the demands of his comedy: writing a
festival show and running a room with Ross Noble.
"It limits me in a certain regard, because I'm making more money from my day job," he says. "During the festival it's even more difficult. I tend to take a little bit of leave just so I don't screw up my job and my show."
However, the job has its advantages. On interstate work trips Bushell books gigs - "just to stop myself staring at the mini-bar and crying" - which most struggling comedians could not afford to attend. And the day job creates reams of material.

"Often, in the industry, IT sales guys are called Road Warriors," he says. "Like they're in Mad Max and wearing leather and spikes. Really their job is driving to Melton and talking to a guy in a rubber factory about their customers."
Community worker Justine Sless is another comic who uses their daily work experiences to drive their night-time show. It's Not About the Prawns discusses her 10 years in the community sector, a field which Sless feels leans nicely towards comedy.

"There's a lot of wank, a lot of toss in the community sector," she says. "It's a chance to channel what I think is funny ... and run a parallel with my own life."

Comedians take a huge financial risk in putting on a show. Most of the festival's 300 shows are self-funded, with a production in a small-to-medium venue costing between $5000 and $8000, producers suggest. First-time performers can expect to lose between $2000 and $3000.

Sless says the risk was significant, but since performing in the Raw Comedy talent quest three years ago she can't stop.
"I was addicted. It's my drug of choice," she said. "Comedy is just the bees knees, it's just brilliant."

Making the step to being a full-time comedian is something which eludes most festival performers. The necessity to eat, clothe and house themselves curtails the desire to make a permanent stand behind the microphone.
For Sless, creating a comedy career beyond low-paying, five-minute slots at comedy nights is an elusive goal.
"When you're parenting and you've got a day job? It's about developing an idea, putting it out there," she says. "But it's very hard."
Behind the computer, Dave Bushell is still preparing to make the jump from secure employment.

"To make it really happen, you have to devote all your time to it," he says. An inevitable fall in income and lifestyle would follow, but the current demands of mixing work and passion are just as difficult.

"Comedy just encroaches more and more on your time," he says.

"Booking gigs, going interstate, running rooms. Even though I haven't been exactly standing out in the rain trying to sell tickets, it's the doing it well that takes the time."
The Age is a sponsor of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival.