Gasping for Airtime - Jay Mohr [75]
During my cold streak, I didn’t mingle much with the other cast members. There was nothing to say. We didn’t have anything in common. They were on television and I wasn’t. Even when someone was being kind and offered words of encouragement, I felt empty. It never made me feel any better. I hated that I was in a situation where others felt they had to console me.
Because I wasn’t on camera very often, I had plenty of free time on Saturday nights to roam around and meet the people who worked in the building. The undercover police officers who handled security for the show became good friends of mine. I got to know Jane, who worked as a janitor for the show, and I befriended Theresa, the NBC nurse. I spoke at length with all of them and found myself seeking their company each Saturday. They were beautiful, friendly people with families, pension plans, and summer homes. And like me, they were never on camera.
The undercover cops and I hit it off pretty quickly. They were blue-collar guys named Ron, Billy Mac, and Fat Phil. They dressed in suits and wore tiny earpieces to communicate with one another. They also carried .22-caliber pistols in their socks. I would chat with them during the show, and at the wrap party, they would always help me sneak in some extra friends. At the parties I would get so drunk that I couldn’t walk anymore. I always made sure my drinking took place in their sights. If I finally snapped, I wanted to make sure I did it in front of the guys who were packing.
The NBC nurse, Theresa, was a delightful woman. She had a husband and a house somewhere in New Jersey, and she always had a smile on her face. I confided in her about my panic attacks and even showed her my Klonopin pocket. Having a nurse close by was always comforting. Since NBC gave free flu shots to its employees at the beginning of the cold and flu season, I felt relieved to be friends with the person who would be injecting me.
I didn’t get a flu shot my first season and paid the price for it. I was flat out in my bed for a week with a fever. My second season, I decided to let NBC give me my flu shot. I couldn’t afford to miss a minute of work, let alone a week. I was afraid that if I was ever sick in bed again, I might not get up to come back when I felt better.
But the day of the free NBC flu shots, Theresa wasn’t there. She had taken a day off and there was a different nurse in her place. I wasn’t too crazy about someone I had just met giving me a shot. What bothered me the most was that I had heard that after you get a flu shot, you contract flulike symptoms for a few days and, in some cases, even a fever. For some reason, this information terrified me. Still, I forced myself to go to the nurse’s station the day they gave out the shots. I wondered if Theresa’s absence should be taken as some sort of omen. I rolled up my sleeve and let the substitute nurse shoot me in the arm with the needle. It didn’t hurt, and I suddenly felt manly and relieved. I proudly rolled down my sleeve when the substitute nurse shouted, “Oh my God! I am so sorry! You’re not allergic to chicken feathers, are you?”
How the hell did I know if I was allergic to chicken feathers? Now I was certain that I was. The substitute nurse quickly downplayed the entire thing, but I could tell from her initial outburst that she had really messed up. I walked out of the NBC nurse’s station planning the lawsuit that I would bring against NBC for shooting me with a needle full of chicken feathers. Henceforth, the show would be called Jay Mohr’s Saturday Night Live.
The rest of the night I itched all over my body and felt nauseated. I was sure that any minute my windpipe would close up and I would choke to death. I never saw the substitute nurse after that night. I told Theresa the next time I saw her what had transpired. She was appalled that anyone would give another human being a flu shot