Humour double fail
If you’re a buffoon, please don’t try to make me laugh. Epic fail will ensue and I will tell you why.
July 2002. It’s the summer between high school and university and I’m working customer service for a large suburban mall.
Stupid Man approaches the booth, immediately starting a pointless conversation about a seemingly anorexic woman he had met the week before, and something about her toes.
“So, I’m a stand-up comedian, you know,” he felt he had to mention, then proceeded to tell incredibly lame jokes. I did not laugh, remaining expressionless and wondered how the comedy clubs of Canada could ever allow Stupid Man’s presence to un-grace the stage—assuming he really was a stand-up.
Stupid Man looked at me and spoke. “Why aren’t you laughing? Don’t you like to laugh? Come on, don’t you think I’m funny?”
I refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing me laugh, even though it was at his buffoonery. “Actually, no, not really,” I replied. “I laugh when something’s funny and I’m sorry, I just don’t find your humour very funny at all.”
Stupid Man became more determined. “There must be something I can do or say that will make you laugh.”
“I really doubt that.”
He tried again, failing miserably. When he finally realized he really couldn’t get me to laugh, he gave a dismissive wave of the hand and left.
One month later…seriously.
I felt my Buffoon Radar going off. Unfortunately, I recognized Stupid Man, who was not wearing a shirt this time, and he made a beeline in my direction. “Excuse me, maybe you can help me,” he piped up. “All these people are laughing and staring at me, and I don’t understand why!”
I blinked. Had Stupid Man actually returned? Was he still wasting my time? “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can help you.”
Stupid Man refused to be pushed aside. “Aw, COME ON!” he whined. “There must be something I can do to make you laugh. Oh! What if I show you my bum?” He started to turn around.
“No, no! Please, don’t!”
“Okay, how about this?” Stupid Man proceeded to make stupid ugly faces and picked his nose.
I threw my hands up in frustration. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, even though I wasn’t sorry at all. “But I really don’t think you can make me laugh.”
At long last, he gave up, probably feeling rightfully foolish that his buffoonerific antics were as unfunny as he was. And probably still is.
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