Almost no one ever understands how funny I am, my dear ones. I have an extremely well developed sense of humor, but hardly anyone gets it. Except my son. He can be very funny too.
Take those episodes of rigidity I underwent as a kid. They were not intentional, true, but still, they were in line with my sense of comicality. They were the fruit of unconscious pure wits.
This man often comes at my table these days when I'm sitting at the wi-fi café. He’s a bright guy, well traveled, cultivated. In a serious tone, almost every time, he compliments me on the way I dress. Since I don’t truly dress up and always wear black, occasionally neutral colors, I see quite well he’s being ironic. I nicely thank him for his praise. I might add I’m impressed that a man notices such things. I always find a way to return the compliment to him. I also mention that I do indeed take great care to match my garments properly.
Then, he heads for the next level, talks of the rainbow that I am as I enter the place. I play the falsely humble lady and insist he’s exaggerating. He touches my black necklace hanging against my black shirt and he professes that it’s perfect.
As we escalate, he offers me a glass of Chardonnay.
I don’t laugh. I don’t smile. It’s so much funnier that way.
You see, honey, he’ll do it again next time. He is so predictable, certain he’s the one pulling my leg. I can go through with this much longer than he can, look straight at his eyes and not budge.
He will never take the time, so busy he is reveling in his own joke, to realize mine is much funnier. And it is funnier mainly because he will never know about it.
Humor has to do with patience, baby.
A good joke takes a lot of time to develop. Months maybe. I’ve even waited years for the perfect conditions to converge toward the exact second where I must act.
You need to plan. To know. To detect patterns. To understand where you’re going. To have a clear goal and never lose sight of it. Then, you can wildly be funny, with an amazing poker face that will not betray you.
You can, of course, also find humor in little and more immediate situations.
I had a boss, years ago, a woman in her late forties who didn’t easily accept her age. She wasn’t much liked around the office, known as she was to steal ideas from others, building her reputation on other people’s work, going through a lot of trouble to mask the fact she was not herself very productive. But what a mundane she was. Showing off at cocktails in June with a mink coat.
She was very excited one afternoon at an invitation to attend a board of directors meeting. I recommended that for the occasion she should choose a blouse I had seen her wear once or twice, with lots of lace and satin appliqués, a blouse about two sizes too small for her, the buttons at the level of her large breasts stretching the fabric so much that they left a wide, open space through which her flabby flesh could be seen shaking like jello.
And you think she knew I was being nasty… She wore the damn blouse and even thanked me for the advice.
Eventually, I did get into a major fight with her. I felt we could, with the people we had internally, do much of the work ourselves, the texts, the graphics, as well as the layout, and stay within budget.
She looked down upon our skills. She said she preferred dealing with consultants, outsiders, much more professional, experienced, gifted, creative than we were, her own team.
Oh, did I make her pay for that. All the employees knew, but her, never.
I resigned my post after one of our arguments where she insinuated my style couldn’t be compared to that of PR people charging up to 10 times more than I did cost the company as a full-time editor.
Well, I was hired right away by the very agency she had meant to get for the job in question. When the stakes are high, I tell you baby, I’m good.
In a straightforward fashion, I explained the situation to my new employer… and I detailed my plan. And he just went along with it.
He did the pitch to get the contract we all knew was destined to his agency anyway. He never told my ex-boss I now worked for him, and he gave me the entire dossier to handle.
I thus coordinated and produced, without her ever being aware of the treachery, every concept, every strategy, every text, every page. And she maddeningly loved every bit of the product. Formerly congratulated the agency on its excellent innovative work.
See, dear ones, how hilarious this is.
That’s a truly amazing joke.
In my late twenties, my humor had a more slapstick edge. I used to work at the stock exchange, half-way between market surveillance and new listings. We had a very meticulous V-P unfortunately with severe social issues. As an example, he used to take a great deal of minuscule notes, during parties, that he would write on matchboxes. An awkward young man, accountant by profession. Very close to his mother with whom he lived and to whom he would whisper on the phone whenever she called at work.
At some point, like they tend to do, markets crash. Since we knew he held some shares, I had the wicked idea to ask someone to call him, pretending to be from the brokerage firm he had dealt with, offering him, as a poor ordinary investor who had lost money probably out of inexperience and lack of knowledge, some free training in the form of introductory classes to the stock market.
The poor awkward V-P was then put on speakers throughout the building as he clumsily tried to reject the offer without having to admit he was one of the vice-presidents.
He never even found out all the staff had listened to the embarrassing conversation. Again, that’s the beauty of the joke.
Two years later, he finally quit the stock exchange. I went to see our lawyer in chief and asked him to draw a special resignation letter for the man, and to make absolutely certain he would sign it before leaving.
It included the most farfetched “regulations” to be followed for a five-year period after the said resignation to prevent, the letter specified, insider trading, such as the rule forbidding him to step on the sidewalk near the stock exchange if he ever was to come back to this area.
Of course, my little ones, he signed it. Without an iota of hesitation.
Then, this other guy, hiding in the toilets to smoke cigarettes during breaks. How often did I succeed. 20 times? No. More like 30. No kidding.
A fire-cracker well implanted in one of the cigarettes in his package.
Time and time and time and time again, I did it. The silly, classic joke. He never suspected me. He never caught me while during an entire year, at least once every two weeks, a cigarette blew up in his face. Didn’t matter where or how he hid his pack. I even rewrapped new ones in their original cellophane when I correctly guessed he wouldn’t touch a pack already opened.
I’m never the person people will think of when they look for an incorrigible joker.
Let’s see. I did start a Guevarist style revolution in one of the high-schools I attended. Got all the girls from the most chic, richest part of town to walk out for a protest on a first of April… Of course, I was no longer there when Mother Superior showed up, terribly outraged, on the steps at the front of the school, to ask what all that riot was about.
None of the few hundred girls in the street had a reason to justify the racket they were making, and they looked rather silly answering that they had no idea why they were there.
Humor requires leadership, honey.
You need to get people to move. To do exactly what you want and when you want it.
Find unavowed weaknesses. Are they secretly hoping for a call from the Prime minister himself? Do it.
It cannot not work.
I did it. You can’t fail. Try.
The true challenge then becomes how to end the conversation with the 'Prime minister.' It works so well, it’s so funny. The victim starts talking and talking, so wrapped up in the honor that, after a while, hanging up becomes impossible. You can’t give away the joke. You must keep it up, whatever the cost or the ridicule. Don’t falter. Don’t laugh. Don’t back away.
Spot the best accomplices. They’re the key to success. They're the ones who will enable you to get away with it, untarnished. Unsuspected. Untouched. An impeccable comic.
Yes, comedy requires intelligence, a strong sense of organization, of planning, the ability to foresee potential problems or resistance, to anticipate. You need a vision.
Team spirit and HR management. Even conflict resolution skills.
To be a real clown means having the audacity to implement the project, to coordinate all of its aspects, to notice details. One must not be too hasty. Review the scenario a hundred times if necessary. Play it in your head. Change it. Weigh its effects, its consequences. Calculate the risks. Collect data. Analyze. Project into the future. Control variables. Go into decision-making and problem-solving modes. Show leadership throughout the development phases. Yes, I would have made a magnificent CEO. That’s the only joke I haven’t yet managed to pull.
Good luck babies. Have a ball. And don’t thank me.
Better, don’t mention my name.
And lastly, for escape, always have a good Plan B.
Laolao
Take those episodes of rigidity I underwent as a kid. They were not intentional, true, but still, they were in line with my sense of comicality. They were the fruit of unconscious pure wits.
This man often comes at my table these days when I'm sitting at the wi-fi café. He’s a bright guy, well traveled, cultivated. In a serious tone, almost every time, he compliments me on the way I dress. Since I don’t truly dress up and always wear black, occasionally neutral colors, I see quite well he’s being ironic. I nicely thank him for his praise. I might add I’m impressed that a man notices such things. I always find a way to return the compliment to him. I also mention that I do indeed take great care to match my garments properly.
Then, he heads for the next level, talks of the rainbow that I am as I enter the place. I play the falsely humble lady and insist he’s exaggerating. He touches my black necklace hanging against my black shirt and he professes that it’s perfect.
As we escalate, he offers me a glass of Chardonnay.
I don’t laugh. I don’t smile. It’s so much funnier that way.
You see, honey, he’ll do it again next time. He is so predictable, certain he’s the one pulling my leg. I can go through with this much longer than he can, look straight at his eyes and not budge.
He will never take the time, so busy he is reveling in his own joke, to realize mine is much funnier. And it is funnier mainly because he will never know about it.
Humor has to do with patience, baby.
A good joke takes a lot of time to develop. Months maybe. I’ve even waited years for the perfect conditions to converge toward the exact second where I must act.
You need to plan. To know. To detect patterns. To understand where you’re going. To have a clear goal and never lose sight of it. Then, you can wildly be funny, with an amazing poker face that will not betray you.
You can, of course, also find humor in little and more immediate situations.
I had a boss, years ago, a woman in her late forties who didn’t easily accept her age. She wasn’t much liked around the office, known as she was to steal ideas from others, building her reputation on other people’s work, going through a lot of trouble to mask the fact she was not herself very productive. But what a mundane she was. Showing off at cocktails in June with a mink coat.
She was very excited one afternoon at an invitation to attend a board of directors meeting. I recommended that for the occasion she should choose a blouse I had seen her wear once or twice, with lots of lace and satin appliqués, a blouse about two sizes too small for her, the buttons at the level of her large breasts stretching the fabric so much that they left a wide, open space through which her flabby flesh could be seen shaking like jello.
And you think she knew I was being nasty… She wore the damn blouse and even thanked me for the advice.
Eventually, I did get into a major fight with her. I felt we could, with the people we had internally, do much of the work ourselves, the texts, the graphics, as well as the layout, and stay within budget.
She looked down upon our skills. She said she preferred dealing with consultants, outsiders, much more professional, experienced, gifted, creative than we were, her own team.
Oh, did I make her pay for that. All the employees knew, but her, never.
I resigned my post after one of our arguments where she insinuated my style couldn’t be compared to that of PR people charging up to 10 times more than I did cost the company as a full-time editor.
Well, I was hired right away by the very agency she had meant to get for the job in question. When the stakes are high, I tell you baby, I’m good.
In a straightforward fashion, I explained the situation to my new employer… and I detailed my plan. And he just went along with it.
He did the pitch to get the contract we all knew was destined to his agency anyway. He never told my ex-boss I now worked for him, and he gave me the entire dossier to handle.
I thus coordinated and produced, without her ever being aware of the treachery, every concept, every strategy, every text, every page. And she maddeningly loved every bit of the product. Formerly congratulated the agency on its excellent innovative work.
See, dear ones, how hilarious this is.
That’s a truly amazing joke.
In my late twenties, my humor had a more slapstick edge. I used to work at the stock exchange, half-way between market surveillance and new listings. We had a very meticulous V-P unfortunately with severe social issues. As an example, he used to take a great deal of minuscule notes, during parties, that he would write on matchboxes. An awkward young man, accountant by profession. Very close to his mother with whom he lived and to whom he would whisper on the phone whenever she called at work.
At some point, like they tend to do, markets crash. Since we knew he held some shares, I had the wicked idea to ask someone to call him, pretending to be from the brokerage firm he had dealt with, offering him, as a poor ordinary investor who had lost money probably out of inexperience and lack of knowledge, some free training in the form of introductory classes to the stock market.
The poor awkward V-P was then put on speakers throughout the building as he clumsily tried to reject the offer without having to admit he was one of the vice-presidents.
He never even found out all the staff had listened to the embarrassing conversation. Again, that’s the beauty of the joke.
Two years later, he finally quit the stock exchange. I went to see our lawyer in chief and asked him to draw a special resignation letter for the man, and to make absolutely certain he would sign it before leaving.
It included the most farfetched “regulations” to be followed for a five-year period after the said resignation to prevent, the letter specified, insider trading, such as the rule forbidding him to step on the sidewalk near the stock exchange if he ever was to come back to this area.
Of course, my little ones, he signed it. Without an iota of hesitation.
Then, this other guy, hiding in the toilets to smoke cigarettes during breaks. How often did I succeed. 20 times? No. More like 30. No kidding.
A fire-cracker well implanted in one of the cigarettes in his package.
Time and time and time and time again, I did it. The silly, classic joke. He never suspected me. He never caught me while during an entire year, at least once every two weeks, a cigarette blew up in his face. Didn’t matter where or how he hid his pack. I even rewrapped new ones in their original cellophane when I correctly guessed he wouldn’t touch a pack already opened.
At quite regular intervals, there was always at least one of his cigarettes with a well hidden flare ready to go off at the first, third or fifth puff he took depending on how deeply the device had been inserted.
The best was to let him finally relax; to make him think he was miraculously out of the woods, and have the thing explode at the very last puff.
The best was to let him finally relax; to make him think he was miraculously out of the woods, and have the thing explode at the very last puff.
I’m never the person people will think of when they look for an incorrigible joker.
Let’s see. I did start a Guevarist style revolution in one of the high-schools I attended. Got all the girls from the most chic, richest part of town to walk out for a protest on a first of April… Of course, I was no longer there when Mother Superior showed up, terribly outraged, on the steps at the front of the school, to ask what all that riot was about.
None of the few hundred girls in the street had a reason to justify the racket they were making, and they looked rather silly answering that they had no idea why they were there.
Humor requires leadership, honey.
You need to get people to move. To do exactly what you want and when you want it.
Find unavowed weaknesses. Are they secretly hoping for a call from the Prime minister himself? Do it.
It cannot not work.
I did it. You can’t fail. Try.
The true challenge then becomes how to end the conversation with the 'Prime minister.' It works so well, it’s so funny. The victim starts talking and talking, so wrapped up in the honor that, after a while, hanging up becomes impossible. You can’t give away the joke. You must keep it up, whatever the cost or the ridicule. Don’t falter. Don’t laugh. Don’t back away.
Spot the best accomplices. They’re the key to success. They're the ones who will enable you to get away with it, untarnished. Unsuspected. Untouched. An impeccable comic.
Yes, comedy requires intelligence, a strong sense of organization, of planning, the ability to foresee potential problems or resistance, to anticipate. You need a vision.
Team spirit and HR management. Even conflict resolution skills.
To be a real clown means having the audacity to implement the project, to coordinate all of its aspects, to notice details. One must not be too hasty. Review the scenario a hundred times if necessary. Play it in your head. Change it. Weigh its effects, its consequences. Calculate the risks. Collect data. Analyze. Project into the future. Control variables. Go into decision-making and problem-solving modes. Show leadership throughout the development phases. Yes, I would have made a magnificent CEO. That’s the only joke I haven’t yet managed to pull.
Good luck babies. Have a ball. And don’t thank me.
Better, don’t mention my name.
And lastly, for escape, always have a good Plan B.
Laolao
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