The year was 2015. I was not in a good place. 

I had quit my lucrative (ha) job in newspaper journalism to enter the equally lucrative world of local television, hosting a late-night comedy show on The CW in Austin. 

It was exhilarating, but I had no idea what I was doing. I was the host and one of three writers, working long hours as we cobbled together a daily program. After hours, I sold ads for the show too.

We were all burned out, or at least I was. Living your dream is hard. 

One night, I was asked to host a comedy show at Cap City Comedy Club in Austin. It was a showcase of TV journalists who were attempting standup for the first time, appropriately called “The Funniest Reporter in Texas.”

Good luck, I thought. Doing standup is one of the hardest things in the world, because it’s so obvious when you fail. When you succeed, you can’t imagine doing anything else. When you bomb, it’s unbearable. 

At the time, I was about eight years into comedy. I happily accepted the job because I needed the ego boost (and the $50). 

It turned out to be one of those nights that I’d never forget, as trite as that sounds. 

While my life had been hectic and hard, the show was magic. All of the reporters had great sets, and I was on my game. (“Don’t date your cameramen, ladies!” I warned the participants. The room exploded in laughter.)

I got off stage, exhausted but happy. 

Then I saw Rob Reiner. He was approaching me with a big smile. 

“Great job!” he said, extending a hand. 

I couldn’t believe it. The director of “This is Spinal Tap,” “When Harry Met Sally,” and “The Princess Bride” liked me. I was floating. Was this what heaven felt like?

“Hey thanks!” I replied, mentally noting every detail so I could remember this moment forever. 

Of course, he wasn’t talking to me. You know that old trope of thinking someone’s talking to you, but they’re really addressing the person behind you? 

That’s what happened. Reiner’s grandson had been one of the participants, and he was congratulating him.  

Reiner looked at me, slightly annoyed. 

“Not YOU, you’re a pro,” he snapped.

Somehow, life had gotten even better. No, he wasn’t talking to me, but Rob Reiner thought I was a pro. 

At comedy. 

I asked him later if we could get a photo, and he graciously accepted.

It’s one of my favorite memories, ever. 

And it came flooding back to me this morning when I heard the awful news of Reiner and his wife’s deaths. 

My show got cancelled a few months after I met Reiner. It happens. But on a night when I needed a little encouragement, I got it from a show business icon. 

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