"The most controversial thing someone can do in Ottawa Comedy, is anything." - Respected Ottawa comedian Don Kelly 

I'm a stand-up comedian and have been for almost nine years. Less than two years into this ridiculous journey I had the opportunity to run an open mic at a local bar/restaurant, Flapjacks Canadian Diner. “Pancakes & Comedy? That will make Ottawa look cool!,” I screamed to nobody in particular on the front lawn of Parliament Hill. 

I was thrilled. Excited. Delirious. I got everything together: I booked some great (and not-so-great) comedians, acquired a sound system and promoted the hell out of it. I put posters all over the city. Ottawa was the pancake and posters were the syrup. While I was canvasing the city, I learned that I had started a comedy open mic just a few doors down from one of two comedy clubs in the entire city. 

I didn't think much of it. They can fit almost two hundred people, whereas my show could only hold twenty-five, tops. I didn't sense a problem until our headlining act dropped out suddenly, stating that the comedy club owner was very upset with my show. I got anxious, but figured they must have their own relationship and that the issue was between the headliner and the club. 

I had performed at this club before, but never met the owner. I had only heard rumours that he was a bit of a hot head. I was officially shook. This meant that the owner was seriously upset. I only wanted to start this show so I might be funnier the next time I got to perform at his club. Practice makes, you know… better. I figured he must know this, as open mics like the one I was starting have been around forever (and ever and ever). 

A week before the big (little) show, the club made a post on the Ottawa Comedy Facebook page saying that anybody who performed at Flapjacks would be banned from his club for a full year. Dun dun dun. 

My initial instinct was to cancel the show. Most performers had dropped out anyway. It was hard enough to get quality stage time without being banned from a club. I didn’t want to be banned. I was days, maybe minutes away from calling the owner to let him know I was cancelling, when something beautiful happened. 

Other new and amateur comedians started reaching out to me. They thought I had started the show as some kind of rebellion towards the club owner’s policies restricting open mics. I fought it at first and was honest with them that my intentions were to simply run an open mic. But these were some of the funniest young comics in town and honestly, I was a very bad comedian with very few friends. I needed this. The sense of camaraderie I began to feel was unlike anything I had ever felt before.

It wasn’t all good though. Along with my newfound comrades, there was also significant animosity from those loyal to the club. People I considered friends now either ignored me or lectured me about being disrespectful. A (former) comedy hero of mine threatened me on the internet (this was before online bullying was as cool as it is now). 

The lines were drawn. With a year long ban from the comedy club pending, myself and nine other brave/stupid young comics decided to carry on with the show. 

Close to seven years later, that show remains one of the best nights of my life. We sold out all 25 seats of our pay what you can show. The crowd was made up mostly of friends and family of myself and the other comics. People were very generous with their laughter. Each comic walked away with more money than they would make in a year at the comedy club. It was incredible. We were joyful. We took a group picture that I still have framed in my room. 

The rest of the comedy community was not so pleased. To them, we had committed the worst sin of all, we had angered their comedy overlord. All of us had a tough time getting booked on other shows after that and dozens of friendships ended overnight. I personally had a public meltdown at the next show I went to. And of course, we were all banned from the best comedy club in the city. 

I lived with regret for a while until I learned that there lived a list titled "The Pancake 10" in the box office of that comedy club. Seeing myself on that list with a group of comedians I loved and admired made it feel worth it. 

There was an unexpected outcome though, which was truly incredible to me. Because we could no longer perform where we normally would, we set off to create our own spaces. Several of the pancake kids, including myself, started their own weekly and monthly comedy shows at local bars, restaurants and venues. We became staples of amateur comedy in the city. Together we created a thriving independent comedy scene where many comics got stage time, space to create and an opportunity to grow. 

I have never had the chance to speak with the club owner about it, someday I hope I can. A couple of us have been back to the club. One actually works for them as a regular. Even I have worked there as a doorman (I was terrible, too many doors, not enough men). 

We did our time, a full year ban. While I have no hard feelings about the whole thing now and have since gained some perspective, at the time it felt like we were gambling with our future careers in comedy. It felt like everything. We weren’t enemies, there was no good versus evil, right versus wrong. Just two sides of the same coin. Two groups of people trying to put on comedy shows the best way they knew how.

Andrew Wambolt - IG: @andrew2716