Name: Breakfast roaster.
Age: As yet unborn.
Appearance: 7.30am to 10.30am.
I know I will regret asking, but what is a breakfast roaster? Perhaps you prefer the expression “breakfast banter butler”? Or “jentacular jester” (from the Latin jentare, to breakfast)?
I emphatically do not. Please explain. A Glasgow hotel has advertised for a comedian to amuse guests over breakfast during this year’s Edinburgh fringe. “You’ll be the toast of the hotel, transforming ordinary mornings into laugh-a-minute experiences,” the AC by Marriott ad reads. “If you’ve got the chops to crack jokes and eggs simultaneously, this is the gig for you … Think skull and cross bones emoji, think ROFL, think LMFAO, think Noel’s House Party.”
This has all the hallmarks of a terrible idea. What possessed them? Perhaps the breakfast experience could do with punching up? Although the hotel scores a healthy 4.5 on TripAdvisor, recent reviewers have noted that: “The breakfast buffet was just OK”; “could possibly be warmer”; “OK despite water marks on the bacon” (though one kinder reviewer declared it “really really good”).
That’s a good reason to introduce a pancake station. It’s not a cue to get some poor sleep-deprived soul who has played a crushing midnight set to an audience of three to scandalise tourists with near-the-knuckle jokes, while sweating Irn-Bru and Lorne sausage. Ah, but banter while you eat is a tried and tested formula. The staff at the Karen’s Diner chain roast customers mercilessly – at least one brave diner has been called a “fucking idiot”.
That would definitely be a marmalade-dropper. How much will the successful ROFL lord or LMFAO lady be getting paid? It’s a moot point. The ad mentions the successful candidate getting free transport and accommodation, which sparked indignation. The Live Comedy Association seemed to think it was (sorry) eggsploitative, commenting: “It massively undermines the value and worth of comedians.” However, the ad also reads, “Paid opportunity & rate to be agreed with candidate.”
Isn’t finding anywhere to stay during the fringe notoriously difficult?
Yes. Edinburgh accommodation rates have reportedly soared by as much as 1,500% this year. Comedian Jason Manford called it “an absolute joke”. That Glasgow, 50 miles from Edinburgh, is considered a suitable option for sleeping, says much about the lunacy of the situation.
I suppose I can see the appeal of this gig, then. All the bacon you can eat too, presumably? “Breakfast is on us,” they confirm. There’s still time to apply: applicants must have a fringe show and submit a “tight 60 seconds” video application.
No, I still can’t condone it. It violates the sanctity of breakfast, which should be taken in sepulchral silence, interrupted only by the whisper of a turning page as one studies a little Schopenhauer and the muted clink of a spoon in one’s double espresso. I demand a banter watershed. Listen, it could be worse. Imagine if they hired a breakfast mime.
Do say: “Banter butler wanted, must be full of beans.”
Don’t say: “Make them laugh or you’re toast.”
