And was pelted with napkins and beer coasters. A local had warned me, if the people REALLY don't like you, they'll throw salt shakers and silverware. I guess you really have to be GOOD if you expect folks to throw chips at you instead.

Ad lib routine that saved me: I asked if anyone there was also from California, and a lady spoke up, "Santa Monica." I said, "I know it well. What street?" And she said "12th Street." "Oh," I replied, "that's right after 11th!" (Loud booing and some napkins from the audience) "And just before (long pause for suspense) . . . Euclid." (RIGHT ANSWER - the superstitious Santa Monicans would never number a street "13." Napkins stopped.)

Anyway, I made it out alive (obviously) and with a few bucks in tips.