At “On the Rox” I was warned about Robin Williams. Which put me off. Not off of him, but of the person who said it. I took it as gossip. But it was a probably a consideration. One doesn’t want to alienate the patrons. Or lose their job.
Among the “A” listers at the private club on Sunset, he wasn’t primarily known for his comic genius.
Book was he was a pest. Tireless in his pursuit of drugs. Dangerously shameless, asking strangers even for a line of coke. Attention seeking, needy, and the last person to leave the party.
I would have preferred hearing that Robin was highly energetic. That I should be mindful of containing the noise. Remember it’s invitation only. Don’t attract paparazzi, party crashers, or the police.
He immediately launched into teasing me. Mocking the bartender and her nasal voice. His schtick wasn’t personal, it didn’t even sting. His compass was way off. Valley Girl? And there I was starving for a roasting, not a caricature.
I tried to feign a smile. Everyone else was howling. In retrospect I wonder what I was expecting a psychic? I should have been honored to be his straight man. But I wasn’t content.