22A

My Dad once told me a story about a man named Frank who was sent to prison.  The first night after lights were out he heard someone yell out "87".  Laughter from all the inmates.  This was followed by a voice from another part of the prison block, "102".  Again more laughter, the process continued on for about an hour.  Every time someone would yell out a number the response would be either chuckling, giggles or uproarous laughter.

The next morning Frank asked his cell mate what the deal was.  "Prison rules say we are not allowed to talk after the cell block gets dark.  Well, there is a joke book in the prison library and all the jokes are numbered.  The guys memorize the jokes and then call them out after dark".  Wanting to fit in Frank spent all of his free time that day memorizing the book's contents.  When the lights darkened someone called out "10", which got laughter, and so forth.  Finally Frank screwed up his courage and loudly said, "42".  Silence.  "95".  Again silence.  "102".  You could have heard a pin drop.

The next morning Frank asked his cell mate why his numbers elicited silence.  "Well you know, some people just can't tell jokes".

I'm 61 and I've learned to live with people not getting my humor.  My first attempt was when I was about 5 and I was with my parents at the Russ drive-in.  After ordering a root beer float I asked my parents if they knew the difference between a boy elephant and a girl elephant.  My folks told me years later that they looked at each other and thought, Oh dear!  How are we going to explain the birds and the bees to a 5 year old using elephants?.  They finally said "How?" and I replied, "The girl elephant wears lipstick".  (note: Lipstick still works as a punchline).

Before that I was considered A VERY SERIOUS BOY.  It was the mistaking laughter of relief for the appreciation of word play that sent me on a different path, sometimes to my detriment.  An adult who sees humor in the often mundane commerce of everyday life can be considered NOT A VERY SERIOUS PERSON.  But - - - Sometimes I can't help myself.

A year ago I attended training to qualify for doing a certain type of driver evaluations.  The class was conducted by Dennis, a Canadian who, yes, was 10 times more knowledgeable about driving than I am.  In his class we learned that about the worst thing that could happen to a driver was to run into a 1500 lb moose.  It seems that moose are a big problem where Dennis is from, and every day we would get a moose example.

Dennis had two habits.  He would never acknowledge the validity of any answer given him when he asked a question, always finding a different way to express the same thing, and he would chuckle to himself while lecturing, which consisted of him reading off of an overhead the pages we had in the book in front of us.  Dennis was one of the main contributing authors of the book.

One day we came to the yellow section, page 22.  Dennis told us that page 22 did not fit entirely on the overhead and that the next overhead should be considered page 22A.  I piped up, "So the Canadian way of saying this should be, page 22, EH?".  Of course he didn't laugh.

I was talking to Becky on the phone yesterday and she told me that she was reading my post on left handed pencils from her cell phone while at work and was chortling out loud.  Her co-workers wanted to know what was so funny so she began reading them the post.  "Why would your dad put the pencils in two piles and tell anyone some are right handed and some left handed?" they asked, baffled.  To which Becky, not having experienced the years of bafflement her father has, responded, as only Becky can;  "BECAUSE THEY ARE 6TH GRADERS!"

Poor Becky.  She went to her first parent-teacher conference for Mello.  The teacher told her;  "Your daughter sometimes tells me jokes, and comments on mine".  "Well, that's nice" said Becky, use to it at home, to which the teacher responded, "She's three.  Three year olds don't tell jokes".   That's my granddaughter!