Friday, 9 December 2011

Consider Me A One-Armed Waiter

What's this? Today's blog being written earlier than normal? Well, I'm home from work early and the two MASSIVE jacket potatoes that I'm cooking for tea will not be ready for another 90 minutes, so I'll have just enough time to write this blog.

I know that sounds a long time, but remember - I'm writing this blog using the app on my phone and the buttons are small and my fingers are big. The next time you text somebody, try using a sausage and you'll get some idea of the trouble I have. Although to be fair, you'll end up with sausage meat all over your phone, and I've never had that problem. Officer.

Anyway, I have come to a terrible conclusion. I've sort of known this for a long time (known what the conclusion is I mean, not known for a long time that I am coming to a conclusion), but have been denying it for many years. I guess that I have been worried that my acceptance of this conclusion, and my admittance of it publicly may cost me many friends.

Ah, but I haven't admitted anything yet, so all my friendships are still safe..........well that's all for today's blog - goodbye!

Oh, alright I'll tell you. I'm humour elitist, a comedy snob if you will. And by that I mean that I genuinely struggle to laugh at other peoples jokes. Partly because most of the time I already know the joke. You see a large part of my brain has been set aside for remembering jokes I have heard over the years. As a result I have heard most jokes. And have some problems with motor functions and bladder control.

But the main reason I don't find another person's jokes funny is because the egotistical part of me thinks that the joke would sound much better coming from me than it does coming from the person telling it at the time. Now the rational side of me knows that this is not true; there are people who are just as funny if not more so than me who, thanks to their personality and timing could make the worst joke hilarious. However, the irrational side of me thinks everyone else is rubbish, and no-one is funnier than me.

I have tried to laugh - sincerely I have - but I just can't seem to manage it. So I fake laugh, but I'm sure that it's not very convincing.

And tonight, this hypocricy (is that spelt correctly?) Manifested itself in a new way. I was in my local Co-op (good with food - not so good at hiring staff that don't look like they were grown from a petri dish) buying some emergancy bits and pieces - bread, Cadbury's Fingers, pizza - and I could hear one of the cashiers ringing for more cashiers to come out. The bell they use to ring for more staff, or for assistance, or for someone to wipe the drool from their chin is just a normal doorbell type but with one tone (Ding, not dong). Whichever cashier was ringing was obviously fed up or taking grief because they were ringing time after time after time. It was sounding like an old fashioned telephone ringing.

So I'm walking past the freezer section with the repeated ringing still going on. Ahead of me is another shopper - an elderly lady - so I think to myself that I'll make her laugh with one of my hilariously funny witty comments. So as I walk past her, with the ringing still going on, I say:
"I wish someone would answer that telephone!"
I keep walking, but turn to see the joy on her little old face.

Except there isn't any.

The elderly woman is just looking at me, without a smile on her face. If you had seen her face, you would have been forgiven for thinking that I had gone up to her and asked if I could have pooed in her handbag.
I was just about to open my mouth to apologise, when the elderly lady said:
"Why don't you answer it and pretend to be a celebrity?"</p>

Well, this threw me completely. As an automatic defense mechanism, I backed away, looking at the floor. I could feel the woman staring at me, so as I backed round the corner I replied
"I can't think who though!?"

Once safe, I started to think about what had just happened. And the more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Not only had that woman dared to try and be funny in my presence when she knew that her role was to play the recipient of the humour, but what she had said made no sense at all! I couldn't possibly answer the telephone because it wasn't a real telephone. It was some hunchback on a cash register with a door bell fixation!
The silly old woman had failed to grasp the comic irony of my original comment, and had effectively ruined what would have been another sublime example of my comedy genius.

And that is why I don't laugh at other peoples jokes.

And the title of this blog? I'm a one-armed waiter; I can dish it out, but I can't take it.

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