An Anecdote

Today I woke up early, which is usually the case due to my son, but in this case, I got up to go to my Alma Matter, St. John’s University.  You see recently I applied to a job that asked me to produce my college transcripts. A few years back, I had ordered a few of them in the anticipation that such a request was unavoidable, however I never counted on how often said request would actually occur.  As a result, hoping to avoid the hassle of the inevitable traffic and irritating horn-blowing that a trip to this part of Queens would ensue, my wife and I spent the better part of last night (again, our son allowing) searching for a copy that I said was, “definitely in the house, I even remember seeing it by the desk recently.” Our desk is usually hidden underneath a mountain of letters and post-its, and after a quick search, I figured that I wouldn't have put something so important in that paper wormhole.

Sadly, we had no luck finding it, even after we searched those hidden areas leading to the fourth dimension which are usually located underneath sofas and/or behind that cabinet you brought with you from your mom’s place. I came to the conclusion that I had sent out the last copy and hadn't bothered to re-order another.  Knowing that our considerate, nearly-3-year-old would have us up in a few hours, we decided to call it a night and I would go to St. John’s the next day to request a cop of my transcript.

After getting past the usual 5:30 am wake up call which my son seems to extract a seemingly Bond-villain like laugh from (no cat though), I found myself rather zombie-esque-like, driving towards St. John’s.  Following the security guard’s instructions, I parked five miles away from where I needed to go and when I finally got to the Registrar’s office, I was told that I needed to fill out a short form, travel through Dante’s Inferno (fitting, seeing as how I was at a Catholic university), promise my next born to the Student’s Financial Office and was then instructed to make the trip back up through Hades and present my receipt to the Registrar’s office.  After they managed to re-re-confirm that I was in fact, the official, corresponding person who had requested to obtain a copy of my transcripts - thus thwarting any nefarious terrorist-camp attempt to obtain any knowledge of my undergraduate Liberal Arts degree information that might seem relevant to their cause – I finally received confirmation that my transcripts would be mailed home.  I asked if I could get them right then and there and was told that the best they could do was overnight them to me and that I would get them by noon the next day.  I foolishly queried, “Well if you can get the transcripts to me by noon tomorrow, and it’s already past noon now, can’t you just print and hand them to me while I’m here?”

And so I found out, this is how self-flagellation was born.   

In any case, I had to leave empty-handed and so I’m expecting my transcripts by noon tomorrow.  The funny part?  After I got home (no small task if you’re looking for parking in Astoria these days), I laid down in bed to relax for a few minutes and forget about everyone and everything that I had come across or dealt with that morning, and my wife walked over to me, holding an envelope in her hand. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Your transcripts,” she said. “I just found them on the floor under our desk.” 

I think they made sitcoms like this back in the 70’s.

A guy walks into a bookstore...

Not too long ago, I went to a Barnes & Noble store to buy a book for a friend.  When I got to the counter to pay, I asked the bookseller to please giftwrap the book.  He asked me which wrapping paper I wanted and after I picked it out, he proceeded to wrap it and pleasantly tried to make “small talk” by asking me, “Is it a present for somebody?”

Now before I go any further, I just want to point out that I have a tendency to be somewhat sarcastic, bordering on obnoxious, and it’s gotten me into trouble over the years – with family, friends, women, employers, strangers, you name it.  Sometimes, I can’t help it.  I’ll find myself in a situation where something happens (either to me or someone around me), or somebody says something that seems to invite a comment, and before I know it, the words come flying out.  However, sometimes the tone comes across wrong and the person (or persons) may feel insulted (admittedly, in a few cases, this was the intent – but those comebacks are usually reserved…well, for assholes quite frankly). 

There are moments when I’m trying to be funny – and yes, there is such a thing as trying too hard and it’s always obvious and that’s when I should just shut the hell up. I mean, if you have to try that hard to come up with a punch-line or witty comeback, then you should just let it go.  Besides, it won’t be long before another opportunity presents itself.  I think that a lot of people do sometimes try too hard and it all comes from the same place - that cringing time of the day or night when the perfect (at least, perfect to you) comeback springs to mind but the moment has already passed and you wish you had said it then.  I think that people hate those moments so much that they wind up trying too hard other times. 

See with me, I grew up watching comedy classics.  Performers like George Burns, Milton Berle, Bob Hope, Abbott & Costello, the Marx Brothers (Groucho in particular), just to name a few, always had me glued to the TV when they were on.  I guess because they made me laugh so much, I admired them and wanted to emulate them.  Of course as I got older, I realized that what I was watching 1) couldn’t really be duplicated, and 2) probably shouldn’t be.  While there are many stories of these performers sometimes reacting comically to a real-life situation (one of my favorites is when Groucho Marx was in a store and a couple approached him and told him how much they loved watching him insult people and the husband asked if Groucho would insult his wife. Without missing a beat, Groucho said, “Sir I’m surprised at you, with a wife like that you ought to be able to come up with your own insults.”), not everyone appreciates that kind of humor.  In a movie or TV show, people choose and pay money to watch a particular individual or group make them laugh.  In real life, most people just want to get through their day without having to deal with a lot of smart ass comments. 

But again, sometimes I can’t help it and like I wrote before, it has gotten me into trouble.  Once, for example, I was dating a girl who really had a passion for animals (clearly, since she was dating me – see what I mean?  Even I’m not immune) and couldn’t stand people who hunted for sport.  I mentioned that I have family members who actually do hunt and we eat what they catch.  She took great offense to this revelation and said, “Well, if I ever meet them, I’m gonna give them a piece of my mind!”  I replied, “Are you sure you can spare it?”  Strangely, she never returned my calls after that. 

So it is something that I’m aware of and something that I’m working on.  I do actually try to catch myself before saying something that really isn’t necessary and kind of only serves to amuse me.  After all, you really need to tailor your conversation to your audience and surroundings.  Even if you are trying to make someone laugh, you still need to be aware of that in order for it to work.  When I was younger, some former employers had told me that I should be more “mindful about the wise-cracks” and for the most part, I have been while at work (of course I’ve slipped now and then, but I do make the effort).  Outside the workplace is another story, but again, it depends where I am.  I have learned that it’s one thing to joke around like that with your family, friends or others who have known you for a while, it’s quite another when it’s just some kid trying to do his/her job and isn’t getting paid nearly enough to put up with or deal with some (slightly bitter) smart-ass who’s watched way too many Marx Brothers movies; and I’m aware that sometimes, it really does get old and played out.  So when this polite Barnes & Noble bookseller asked if the book I bought and had asked him to wrap was a present for someone, I said, “No, I want to surprise myself with it later.”

It’s a work in progress.