Bughouse Theater

I was going to a street fest in my neighborhood with a friend of mine last weekend, but the weather was really bad: rainy, windy, and chilly. We just decided to go to a random comedy show in Bughouse Theater near my place after dropping by the fest for 30 minutes.
When we got there 10 minutes before the show, 50 seats were almost filled up. It was an inaugural BYOB show and we were able to bring our own tea (no alcohol for us this time). Also, they served an complementary Indian appetizer, samosas, and we really enjoyed it before the show. When the show started, I remember I continuously laughed, and my cheeks hurt when the one and a half stand up comedy show ended. I really had lots of fun listening to personal stories and funny experiences of the comedians with different racial, cultural, and religious backgrounds. It turned out to be a wonderful choice for our Saturday evening entertainment. I can’t wait to go back their next show for Simmer Brown on June 20^th.

I had no idea what to expect when my friend told me to meet him here for a late-​night improv show. With a name like Bughouse Theater, my brain was going wild with possibilities for the décor. Beetle statues? Science experiments? Spy equipment?
Nope, none of the above. Actually, the place was so nondescript that my travelling partner and I accidentally made spectacles of ourselves as we peeked through the windows, studying what appeared to be a church group as we tried to figure out what venue our cabbie brought us to. Enough people turned around that my friend finally looked back, laughed and rescued us. Turned out that it was simply intermission between the two improv acts. We paid our entry fee (half price, since we missed half the show. Score!) and sat down with my friend in the pew.
Yes, the pew.
Seating consisted of about five church pews and two rows of folding chairs. The room looked like a small storefront, with merchandise slats covering three of the walls. My friend said it felt like a pentecostal church, and he wasn’t wrong. The only thing that alluded to performance art was the Bughouse Theatre name above the slats in front of the room. There was a platform — not quite high enough to be called a stage — where the performers did their thing, and that was about all there was to look at. We were in a beige box, and a chilly one, at that. Ladies, bring a jacket unless you want to blind people with your headlights.
I’m not sure if groups perform regularly at the Bughouse, as I don’t live in Chicago. I’d imagine that your comfort in the space would have a great deal to do with how much you enjoy whatever you’re watching. The Bughouse worked for me, but that may have been because I was sitting among friends and the brothers from Piebenga Plumbing — that evening’s performers — were hilarious. The $ 5-​$ 10 entry fee was swell, too, as were the post-​show Pixies tunes.