So, What's So Funny?

I'm sitting at the computer tonight with absolutely nothing to say. Zero...zilch...laid an egg-a-roonie. I've tried several times to come up with something interesting to say or something funny to tell you, but I'm shooting blanks here. Maybe it's because I've burned the candle at both ends for several days in a row. Maybe it's because, truth be told, I'm not that interesting of a conversationalist. Certainly, my life story wouldn't fill the drama needed to make a 10-second movie. Partially, that's my fault because I shy from drama. I'm the T-Rex on "Toy Story" who says "I don't like confrontations!" Rather, it's my nature to try to make you smile. I like it even better when you laugh out loud.

What's wrong with that? Well, I can think of a few times when I was thinking of a joke when the situation needed to be more serious. I remember a time when I worked with this guy named Charlie.

I must have been about 27 or 28 years old, and Charlie was...well, heck, I really don't have a clue how old Charlie was. He looked about 65. He smoked three packs a day...in the office...from 8-5. (Yes, people used to be able to smoke freely in the office, kids.) There's no telling how many cigarettes he smoked at home. His voice was gruff, as you would expect from someone who smoked that much. And he was short...shorter than me...and portly. Charlie always had a story to tell. Even when you were too busy to think straight, Charlie wanted to talk....well, mostly, he wanted you to listen. In the two years I worked with him, I did my fair share of listening.

But one day, he had "cornered" a co-worker when I happened to walk back into the office. Turns out, Charlie was talking about his mother's funeral that had happened years previously. I don't know why the story struck me as funny because losing your mother is not a humorous event...I know firsthand. Maybe it was because I was tickled that someone else had been the prey for his endless stories that day. Maybe it was Charlie's slow, raspy drawl. Heck, it would take him five minutes to read a seven-digit phone number. {Eat your heart out, Vinnie!} Maybe it was the way he'd look at you with his droopy, hound-dog eyes. I don't know why I did what I did. I don't know to this day...but he looked at me and I started giggling. The man was talking about his beloved dead mother and I'm giggling like a little schoolgirl. Awkward...yes... to say the least. But I can recover, right? Stop giggling Mark. Stop right now! Now! I'm not kidding, mister! STOP GIGGLING....ARGGGGHHH!!!!

Well, nope, I couldn't AND didn't stop. My laugh-box had been kicked over and there was no turning back at this point. Then Charlie looks at me and says, "So, what's so funny?" I was blank. I had nothing. Zero...zilch...egg-a-roonie. All I could do was hold on to a thin thread of decency and bite my lip. Slowly, I slunk away...snickering under my breath.

Later that day, I apologized to Charlie and told him that I had a joke floating around in my mind when I walked back in that day. I explained that I just couldn't contain myself from laughing because of the joke. He accepted my apology and we shared a laugh together.

I don't know whatever happened to Charlie. I quit working at that office over 20 years ago and it was in another state. I suppose he could still be alive, and I sure hope he gave up smoking.

Well, like I said earlier, I don't have anything to say tonight. Zero...zilch...nothing. So, what's so funny?