Fighting through the funk to get to the funny
My Sentiments Exactly
I feel so badly for folks with no sense of humor. I mean, to never see the funny in everyday situations? #BummerExistence
Like my Pop always says, “That’s a heckuva way to go through life.” Pop doesn’t say heck. I digress.
Granted, sometimes you have to seek out humor. Like, under the covers. Or in a ditch. Or buried deep within the Marian Trench. That’s the deepest spot on earth, according to geology.com. It’s in the Pacific Ocean and lies 36,070 feet below sea level, in case you didn’t know. #IDidnt
Hilarity can hide well.
Like, on the morning that you open a publicly shared calendar only to find that you are a meeting title — and it ain’t “The Queen of Sheba,” capsice?
Instead, the subject header reads something along the lines of “The Top 742 Reasons I Hate Patty Kimerer.” Ouch.
Within the body of the message, the agenda conveys:
“Patty is completely and utterly incompetent and moronic. She is the reason for every bad thing that has happened in the history of mankind since Eve tricked Adam into eating that apple. In fact, I think she probably had something to do with that, too.”
Um, that isn’t the funny part. #CharacterAssassination #HurtMyHeart
And that was just the morning, yo. It got better from there. And when I say better, I, of course, mean worse. As in, I got sideswiped by another emotional hit-and-run a few hours later.
In an effort to verify the specifics about an event I was helping to plan, I got the old “Wow-can-you-NOT-just-handle-this?” fish to the face slap. #StrikeTwo
The hat trick came via a proverbial shot through the ticker early that evening. This one was aimed at my kid. #IWillCutYou
All I’ll say is when an 18-year-old acts more mature, professional, classy and respectable than a fully baked adult, well, it just makes you glad you’re the mom of the 18-year-old, you dig?
Ah, but that’s when God, in all His gracious glory, throws you a little funny bone. Because, just as I was about to retire from being a grownup, it happened. The reservation conversation:
“Hi, this is Suzy from Restaurant XYZ returning Patty’s call?” came a sweet little cell call. “This is she,” I said before explaining how their “convenient online app” isn’t.
“Ohhh. So you need a reservation for six at 10 p.m.?” she asked after the fourth time I requested a table for 10 at 6 p.m. Finally #5 stuck. I started smiling.
“OK, now I just need a name for the reservation,” Suzy said.
“Um, how about mine?” said PK.
Suzy: “So, what is it?”
PK: “Um, Patty?”
Suzy: “Oh! OK, Patty. Now all I need is a phone number for confirmation.”
(WAIT, ISN’T THIS THE CONFIRMATION? I thought but…) PK: “How about this one?”
PK: “So, thanks…” (my smile was widening)
Suzy: “Sure. So, could you just give me the number?”
(UM, THE NUMBER YOU JUST DIALED? THE ONE ON THE VOICEMAIL MESSAGE THAT’S PROBABLY LITERALLY ON YOUR PHONE THIS VERY SECOND IF YOU JUST LOOK AT IT?” I thought. But…)
PK: “Yeah, it’s 330-555-5555.”
As I hung up, I laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed until it actually hurt my face. And that, my friends, is the best kind of pain you can have.
Ah, humor; sure does keep this big round ball spinning, doesn’t it? #ThanksBigGuy
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist who loves a laugh or two. Or 8,547. Visit her allegedly funny blog at www.patriciakimerer.com