I take an old remote control with me in the car. When I’m at a traffic light, I check the other light and when it turns yellow, right before mine turns green, I stick it out the window and press a button. People lose it! “Hey, did you see that? How do you get one of those?”
Doing comedy and facilitating seminars is tough enough to do without worrying about the fly in your pants. You have to focus on the material, the audience, hoe engaged you are with them,etc. The last thing you should have to worry about is your fly being open.
Unfortunately, things happen, and usually at the worst possible moment. Once, I was conducting a workshop with a group of Circuit City people. I had them connected, engaged, in the palm of my hand. I was the master. About half way through, one of the participants approached and told me my fly was open.
I was mortified. Not only was I horribly embarrassed, I still had nine days to go with this group, who teased me relentlessly for the duration of our time together. What could be worse than that? We’ve probably all had the nightmares of going to school, work, etc., with no pants on. That would certainly be worse, but it’s only a dream.
Once the hijinx begin in a workshop setting, it becomes very hard to control. Every day, right before the afternoon session began, I would quickly guzzle a glass of water from my pitcher of water at the front. Talking all morning will make you very thirsty, and its important to stay hydrated.
So, one day after lunch, I poured my usual glass and guzzled it. Near the end of the glass, I realized something was definitely wrong. The water didn’t taste right, and everyone was laughing. Someone had filled my pitcher with vodka. It was too late to spit it out, and it was a large glass, so now it was just a matter of time until I became inebriated.
I became so drunk, I had to cancel my afternoon session and go back to my hotel, with a designated driver, to sleep it off. These were the good old days before HR became the police and killed all of the fun. Practical jokes are sometimes the only thing that keeps you going. At least that’s the case with me.
I thrived on them, and so did my victims. You never knew when someone might strike and to what lengths they might go. I once, in front of several hundred people, performed a magic trick on my boss. You know, the silver dome which, when lifted, proves that it is empty? Of course there is a false bottom which typically contains a dove. In this case, it contained a cream pie. My unsuspecting boss took it right in the face before he could react. It was beautiful.
At one point, the jokes became so out of hand, we were told by our superiors that enough was enough. It was time to stop. Did I? Not on your life. I knew I needed to continue preemptive strikes to keep my boss at bay. One day, I was called into our division president’s office. He said, “Hey, boy. (a term of endearment from him) Everyone gets one and you just had yours.”
That was it. No more jokes. No more putting butch mags in my boss’s briefcase, so it was the first thing that his class saw. No more fun. It would never be the same, and it wasn’t. Oh well, I’ll have the memories until I get old enough that I’ll actually think I’m doing them. Then it will be fun again.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to put a whoopie cushion on my wife’s chair before we sit down for breakfast.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
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