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At two American comedy clubs, hundreds of comics compete for a job taking out the trash.

The door guy position at most comedy clubs is not that different from a traditional service industry job. But at The Comedy Store (The Store) in Los Angeles and The Comedy Mothership in Austin, it’s a talent development pipeline that’s seen the likes of Sam Kinison, Jay Leno, Jim Carrey—and in Austin newer breakouts like Saturday Night Live (SNL) cast member Kam Patterson, Cristina Mariani, and recent SNL auditioner Peyton Ruddy.

Only about 50 door guy positions exist between the two clubs: The Store lists 27 current door guys. The Mothership has about 20.

Shane Bianchi, a door guy at The Store, seats guests—and yes, he takes out the trash. But it’s a fraction of the job. The main purpose is an apprenticeship. “If you want to get paid for watching comedy, this is a good job because that’s 90 percent of it,” says Bianchi. Employees can test material at the two weekly open mics and get at least one spot a week on a show, usually a five-minute opening spot, and sometimes ten minutes in the Belly Room.

Similarly, Mothership door guys get 10-15 minutes of stage time multiple times per week and can even leave after seating shows to perform at other Austin clubs. “Yes, we seat people. Yeah, we take out trash, but it’s the most lax job ever,” says Mothership door guy Tony Casillas. The club’s goal is for door guys to get as good as they can at comedy so they can eventually quit the job.

The main route to landing a door guy position at these clubs is getting noticed by the booker at the clubs’ open mics. Store door guy Joey Cerone says the best way to get the job is to get up on “Set of the Night,” a weekly bucket pull competition open mic. They select a winner who receives a guaranteed spot at the other open mic, Potluck, which the Store’s booker attends. “If you just keep doing well on that Set of the Night, you just keep getting up in front of the booker,” says Joey.

The Potluck open mic commonly reaches over 400 signups for the 16 spots. “It’s very competitive but also a complete crapshoot,” says Bianchi. “It’s all about consistency. Just go every week.” Only a few comedians bypass these traditional channels. Cerone says one comic did so well once that they offered him a door guy position after his set.

The Mothership chooses door guys the same way: through a bucket pull open mic that gives 16 people a chance to perform in front of the booker. If they do well, they could be called back for an audition. Jay Legend, a current Mothership door guy, got his job this way: “I auditioned at the club, got passed by the booker. Once being passed, I emailed that I was interested in the door guy job. They had an opening and I was lucky enough to get in.”

Most current door guys recommend honing their skills as a comic before trying to land one of these positions. Two current door guys mentioned developing in a different scene before pursuing the door guy job. There are exceptions: some comedians were just a year or two in, but most had at least 10-15 minutes they were extremely proud of.

The relationships comedians build as door guys often lead to major opportunities, like movie roles, podcast positions, and private gigs. “The real opportunity is the relationships you make with other comedians,” says Ryan Mirvis. “The comedy community is very much friends helping friends, friends booking friends, and friends creating with friends. Networking is just as important of a skill as joke writing is.”

Cost of living is often a challenge for comedians in cities with prominent comedy scenes. Many comedians hold full-time jobs outside of comedy, which can sometimes limit writing and time spent at the club.

Door guy jobs can help address this. Crucially, none of the current door guys we spoke to work another job. This frees up time for comedians to focus squarely on comedy. Mothership door guys are paid for spots and receive free therapy and acting classes. “[The Mothership] pays us a really good hourly wage…they take care of us financially,” says Casillas.

“It’s definitely possible to live off just being a door guy [at The Store],” says Cerone. “A lot of folks do end up having a secondary job. I’ve been lucky enough that working the door and getting to do some weekends with some headliners, I’m able to afford it.”

And just being around comedy teaches the intangibles: learning the work ethic of other comics, watching famous comics work out unfinished material, and seeing great comics bomb. Since the job is heavily geared toward watching comedy, Cerone says the exposure helps him identify which styles he prefers.

Most comics who compete for one of the few dozen door guy positions will not get one. But there are other club jobs that can serve similar purposes, especially for building relationships and absorbing how comics operate.

Greg Melly is a comedian who’s been a server at the Comedy Cellar’s MacDougal Street location for over four years. He says there is no formal employee-to-comic development pipeline. Yet, his position helps him grow as a comic.

He’s seen famous comics bomb for fifteen minutes and others prepare for SNL appearances. He’s learned unexpected aspects of comedy: “The best spot on a lineup as a regular comic is right after a famous person,” he says. “Because they’re going to get a humongous welcome. They’re going to kill it for the first couple of minutes of their set. But for the most part, they’re usually trying new material. And then you get a 10-minute set from somebody who’s been working on their material for a while. It’s a next-level murder.”

Door guys at The Store and The Mothership often start this way: Multiple current door guys at those clubs previously worked at comedy clubs from Houston to Bloomington.

And these types of opportunities are available inside many clubs. Max Fine, a barback at New York Comedy Club, spends part of his time on the clock talking to comedians. During the club’s “New Joke Show,” the assistant booker had seen his tape, so he was put on the show, which led to him getting passed to perform spots on the regular shows.

In 1980, 17-year-old Bill Hicks showed up at the Comedy Store with a suitcase, planning to become a comedian at The Store. Two years later, he left Los Angeles and moved back to Houston, where he continued to develop his craft and eventually became one of comedy’s influential cult figures.

He didn’t need a door guy job. In 2026, most comedians don’t. There are more ways than ever to make it in comedy. Self-publishing has decentralized comedy and removed gatekeepers.

And door guy jobs aren’t perfect either. Night work can make it harder to do other comedy spots. Liz Splatt mentions dealing with “creepy drunk customers.” And there’s no guarantee of success. “You can work your tail off for years and it may turn into nothing, or maybe you have one great set and the right people are in the audience and you get a new agent or get booked on a TV show,” says Mirvis. It’s a crapshoot.

Still, these door guy positions are often a supercharged entry point into comedy. You meet other comics and show bookers who invite you to gigs and cast you in movies. And for the art form that is comedy, this is the dream: to be paid to be in the comedy scene, outside the digital wasteland, meeting real people who give real opportunities.