Dispatches from a Wannabe Stand-up 2

The Conference Room.

In fourth grade, I was not allowed to sit with the other kids. My desk was moved so that it was touching the teacher’s desk. This was because I was deemed by Mr. Shaw to be the Class Celebrity. I didn’t know what a Celebrity was but I knew that I was special and hoe-dangit if I wasn’t pretty psyched about it. The title didn’t come easy. I had to constantly say funny things at inappropriate times. While other kids were completing workbooks and practicing cursive (greeaat skill to have – I use it all the time) I was jumping and screaming for attention.

At twenty-eight, the only thing that’s changed is the pop culture obscurity of my humor. Oh, and instead of the classroom, it’s a conference room. Yes, I know that while everyone’s laughing at my jokes, they secretly hate my guts but that’s just because they really hate themselves and are jealous of my good looks and overflowing rolodex of ladies’ digits. What can I say; when you’ve got it you’ve got it. So the conference room is my domain. It’s my home court. Where I sharpen, hone, and polish my timing. I strive to be edgy enough to get laughs while painting within the lines so as to avoid being reprimanded.

I am King of the Conference Room! Everyone kneel before m—
<cue record-scratch noise>
Who’s this? What’d she just say? Was I just de-throned?

Every now and again, I bomb. A joke fails and no one laughs. That’s usually okay because within a minute or two, another opportunity arises and I reclaim my honor. But Tuesday, one of my coworkers (confident, intelligent and absolutely hilarious) not only shot me in the heart, but as I fell from grace, she grabbed the crown careening around my head. In a classic one-two she not only trashed my joke-fail, she also nailed the follow-up. It was cold. It was quick. It was brilliant.

Sitting there blushing, the smell of failure oozing from my pores, I looked to my spirit-guide, Dae-su. He’s telling me to get my revenge. He’s also telling me to finish watching Old Boy because apparently the ending is enough of a shock for me to pick someone else as a role model. Ooh, look at the time! Our next meeting starts in a few minutes. I plan to plow my way through it decimating everyone in my way. Now, where did I put that hammer?

Like this? Want more? Head over to Dustonthedesk.blogspot.org. Surely you’ve got another five minutes to kill before your boss turns the corner.

About: NuwayCleaner

James Guimaraes is a freelance writer living in New York City just like everyone else. Nothing special. Move along. Speaking of moving on, have you checked out his website?

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