Riding with Strangers

Free Zone
Originally uploaded by kafkas_undies.

I did a lot of elevator riding last weekend. One night I was gracious enough to share my vertically bound chamber with Al Franken, his male companion, and a heavily medicated grandmother. Me, Franken + one, then the old lady. That was the boarding order, each at a different floor. And no, I'm not trying to kill you with details; it's called setting the scene. So I'm in the elevator iPodding, grooving to something or other, when Franken plus one get on. I side glare. And eavesdrop. That's the beauty of headphones. They're manmade miracles, really. Miracle shape-shifter truth serum gems. And they don't necessarily need to project noise or be hooked up to an audio device or even be real headphones. They just have to look like headphones and the mere act of wearing things that resemble headphones is akin to sprinkling oneself with invisible powder. With the help of these avec cable ear covers, you come pretty damn close to thinking you could look up girls' skirts without notice. But trying is probably a horrible idea unless you like the thought of being labeled a sexual predator and having your town plastered with poorly designed photocopied flyers bearing your likeness and announcing the danger you pose to people's private areas.

So I am standing in the elevator with Al Franken, his companion, and my ear covers. Then the old lady joins us. Words are exchanged, side looks are given. The conversation content is irrelevant; what does matter, though, is that I love the pause button and I also love laughing at my own jokes. The pause button love affair needs no explanation. (I mean, how much more overt can one get?) The laughing at my own jokes thing - well, I guess I could offer up a few syllables. Basically, it's like this: I'm fucking hilarious. I'm so funny it hurts. It hurts me, it hurts you, and it hurts [to-the-point-of-killing] pain. So of course I laugh at my own jokes. I'd be stupid not to! And why shouldn't I? When did self-entertainment become a crime? Why should I be deprived of enjoying my frontal lobe's hope-you-brought-a-change-of-pants concoctions while the rest of the world gets to bask in my comedic glow? I can't think of a good reason or even a mediocre one. So I'll continue laughing at my own jokes. And oftentimes, I'll be the only one laughing. End of story; or is it?

No, it's not the end. But one is forthcoming so you can hold your horses and unbunch your panties. Okay. So I'm in the elevator with Al Franken plus two and am feeling pretty damn generous, so as we approach my floor, I decide to give my fellow riders the gift of my (fabulous) sense of humor. As the elevator door thinks about opening, I lay one down. And it was a good one. Directed at Mr. Franken. The joke combined Franken's radio show and his love of the Grateful Dead with radio production jargon. And on top of that, the joke managed to be funny. Seriously funny. Trouble was, funny man Franken didn't think so. Instead of laughing, he chose to go down the confusion-indignation-pity with a hint of disgust road. (He was obviously - and understandably - threatened. I am, after all, fucking hilarious.) And despite his wet blanket lackluster response, I'm happy to report that my own laughter more than compensated for Franken's poor sense of humor. I laughed my ass off and as the elevator door closed - concealing the three horrified passengers - I continued to laugh. I laughed all the way to my room and there, I laughed some more.