The morning after I write a column, I fearfully check my e-mail before work. Usually the e-mails are harmless. I forward the humorously insulting ones to my best friend so we can laugh at them, I bask in the glow of compliments and I respond politely to each and every message.
Last Wednesday, aka the worst Wednesday ever, my routine was demolished. I woke up at 7:45 a.m., 15 minutes before work. I stared at the clock, hoping it was an hour fast. It wasn’t. I got dressed (poorly, I might add) and ran to work without breakfast.
After half an hour at work, I checked my e-mail. The subject line read “Are you retarted?” Normally I would find this funny. That day however, it was horrible. The woman, after questioning my mental capacity, was offended by my lack of sources (it is a column, not an article), infuriated by the bias (again, not an article), and then attacked my journalistic integrity (lady, it is NOT an article). She thought it was appalling that I was joking in an “article.” Really, stay away from the opinion page.
I was very upset. I hadn’t meant to insult anyone. I was just trying to get my point across with gross exaggerations and sarcasm.
That e-mail made me realize that a rather large percentage of the population has no sense of humor. To atone for my “insulting” article, I attempted to live a day without laughing.
Living without a sense of humor ruined my life. Well, at least my day.
I left work and rushed to class. I tripped over a crack and fell. I didn’t trip. I fell and landed on my hands and knees. Instead of laughing, I merely hung my head in shame. I trudged to class, tears in my eyes and dirt on my pants, looking at the ground and watching my step.
In choir that day, instead of finding the humor in the fact that we were rehearsing Christmas songs in April, I miserably sang “Carol of the Bells,” over and over. I messed up several notes and resolved to sing no more.
During class, my best friend texted me about a certain bathroom issue. Instead of giggling, I hid the message, embarrassed by the mere suggestion of a toilet.
The last straw was in my magazine writing class when my classmate wrote me a note about a men’s magazine called “Black Men for Men.” I began to giggle, feeling a little restored, when my professor asked me to share with the class what was so hilarious.
Humiliated by yet another humorless individual, I kept my head down.
It wasn’t until I tried to skip out on my Wednesday after-class tradition that my friends tried to save me. Every Wednesday, we buy Cokes (possibly soon to be Pepsi) and sit outside, laughing at people who don’t deserve it, each other, world woes and our favorite subject, ourselves. Instead of engaging in this ritual, I tried to go home.
My friend insisted I come over and tell my sad, humorless tale.
Not only did they laugh at me, they had the audacity to tell me my day was not bad at all! It was the same as usual.
I thought about it. They were right. It was exactly the same. I get angry e-mails every week. I wake up late every day. I fall on my face at least once a day, sometimes more. I’ve been singing Christmas carols for weeks now, and my magazine teacher yells at me all the time.
What was the difference between this Wednesday and all the others? I didn’t laugh at myself or my situation once. Think about living in a world without inappropriate laughter. It’s just a cruel, dark place.
I laugh at the news, stereotypes, tragedies and injuries. I will laugh at my best friend’s funeral and I hope the angel of death is a jester. Laughing cures maladies and humiliation, and best of all, works out my abs. Seriously, I am living proof of sexy abs carved by laughter.
Later I decided to Internet stalk my e-mail assailant. Not only did she spell numerous words wrong in her hate mail (as most hate mailers do) she is not a student, just a lonely adult in a humorless world. I feel sad for her now instead of angry. She must have terrible days. I hope she learns the ways of laughter and improves her life (and abs).
After all, if we aren’t laughing, we’re crying.
Everdeen Mason can be reached at [email protected].
