At work, I was known as a bit of a jokester. My colleagues always laughed at my stories. When I was a division head in my final years at the company, my subordinates would be hysterical over my punchlines. One guy even busted his collar button laughing so hard. He was promoted to my job after I left. At my recommendation, of course.
So naturally, after I retired, I decided to give stand-up a try. That is after the obligatory two-week cruise. Once I was landside, I checked out places that had an ‘open mic’ night. The retirement center had one at five in the afternoon. The seniors would be asleep by seven. The local bar had ‘open mic’ night starting at eight. That was perfect for me. Dinner and drinks.
None of the seniors laughed at any of my jokes. They wanted me to end so that they could get their dessert, tapioca pudding. As I was delivering one of my famous punchlines, one of the residents expired. Directly into her pudding.
The hall became a recovery center with Emergency Medical Technicians, police, fire fighters and flashing lights. I left frazzled and sought refuge at the bar. After a couple of drinks, I was slurring when I got to the mike. My turn was downhill all the way. Several people left.
A few weeks later, there was another open mic night at the senior center and the local bar. I applied and was rejected at both places. ‘Doom,’ was the word the senior center used. ‘Worst night ever,’ said the bar owner.
Anyway, I have decided to return to my old job. At least over there they think I am funny. They laugh at all my jokes. Hysterically.