Justine Smith doesn't tell taxi drivers she's a comedian. Instead she says she's a nurse. She even puts "writer" on her airport departure card because she doesn't want to go through Customs and them to be like, "oh you're a comedian are you, tell us a joke then."
Being a stand-up comic isn't like being an accountant - people will always want to hear you talk about your work. It's because we all acknowledge that it's terrifying, but on the inside most of us reckon we'd secretly be great at it.
Justine started in comedy 21 years ago at Kitty O'Brien's open mic. She was literally pushed on stage because she was too nervous to walk through the curtain. She made the jump (literally) into comedy because she'd seen British comedian Bill Bailey on stage in the bar she was waitressing at in 1997.
"I was there with my tray in one hand and I looked at this one man and the effect he was having on a whole room … I thought I want to be like that."
Can you make a living as a comic In NZ?
Smith acknowledges that stand-up is a hard career to eek out a living in.
As a pro you get maybe $150 for MCing at The Classic Comedy bar. For a rookie you get "a free Heineken". She waitressed, worked in bars, and scraped together money for a long time. Quite a long time. She's been doing comedy for 21 years and only made decent money from it in the last two years. Admittedly it's easier now for up and coming comics with a greater amount of TV and writing work available. But it's still a far cry from a cushy job in PR.
What's the worst heckle you've ever had?
For young comics starting out, says Smith, heckling can shut you down.
"When I'm MCing I say to the crowd if you want to heckle, have a go at me but leave the young ones alone."
She's understandably protective like that. It used to shut her down. Once early on she was playing in a bar and someone called out.
"Oi love," shouted the bloke,
"Yes," said a tremulous Justine,
"Did you drive here?"
"No-o-ooo" she quavered
"Well bend over and I'll drive you home!"
The whole place erupted in laughter - and she ran off stage. But now she's like, "anyone who heckles? Bring it on, fool!"
But she said, especially for newbies, heckling isn't helping. "People are like, 'I'm just part of the show!' " says Justine, "It's like no mate, you're a f*ckwit, so shut up."
Do you need Dutch courage to go on stage?
For most people, just the thought of doing stand-up is enough to make them sweat like a brie in the sun.
Smith still gets nervous, even after 21 years. But she doesn't get drunk before she gets on stage.
"You have the odd loosey goosey night," she says as the memory of a hash cake and a disastrous gig floats across her face, "and I'll bring a beer on stage - but it will be my first or second." You don't go on drunk. And she doesn't even really need it. She was someone who was born to do this. "I'm just a bit of a show off really... when I was a kid I'd run away from my mother and she'd find me dancing in shop windows for strangers!"
Are people born funny?
There's something Smith believes in called 'funny bone'. It's that instinctive, inherent funniness that some people have - and some people just don't.
"You can almost tell when someone's doing stand up," says Smith, "if they have it or not."
Their first gig will probably be shit - they were all shit starting out, says Smith.
But even in that first bad gig, you know those ones who have funny bones and the potential to be great.
And if I really want to be a stand-up?
Do it: "If you've ever watched stand-up and thought that looks like fun - go for it!" she cries.
"It is just so much fun. It's so hard but it's so rewarding."
You'll never get a better high.
