I spent 20+ years working for NBC at 30 Rock. When I started exploring stand-up comedy, the first bit I wrote was based on my experiences working in the building behind what has become “America’s Christmas Tree” – or, as I came to call it, “that fucking tree”.
Since the thing was lit last night, I know the hell my former colleagues are going through. Here’s the bit, in its entirety:
Who’s really jazzed about Christmas? Who’s excited beyond words at all the decorations and the hoopla?
Well, I know one thing about all of you. You don’t work in 30 Rock.
I do. That fucking tree.
Imagine that your commute, which normally means pinballing across at least one train platform and at least several crosstown blocks, now also includes hacking your way through a literal mob of tourists.
The mob grows by the minute. You’re trying desperately to get to your office. You can see the revolving doors across the plaza, but …
There’s the Stroller Army, who aim at your knees and ankles as they press their little angels closer to that fucking tree.
There’s the Double-Wides, who stand tall as they wave their arms, pointing … right into your eye … at that fucking tree.
You’ve got the tour group from Thailand, in scattered clumps around the skating rink, wai-ing that fucking tree.
So you make your best broken-field run across the heaving horde, focused on those doors and what’s beyond them – black coffee, toasted bagel, dry, and your work day – and you have to join in on a chorus of When the Saints Go Marching In, just to achieve the lobby.
I tell you, there’s nothing about that fucking tree that couldn’t be cured with a can of gas and a couple matches.