I am currently in a teaching class for my master’s. It’s awful; but that is not what’s up for discussion right now. As part of the class we are required to teach a 55 minute class for older people in the community on creative writing one weekend of the semester. Most of the people who attend are retirees who take continuing education classes to become better writers or learn more about literature.
I had no idea what I was going to teach, then suddenly I had the idea to teach a humor writing class. I have never taken a humor writing class. I don't really even write humor (for class – I attempt on this blog. My two human readers and Mr. Fluffers the cat who occasionally reads it have told me I'm “kind of somewhat, a little MEOW funny).
Well, I spent a few hours putting together a list of humor terms and finding funny examples. I submitted my class syllabus to my teacher, who promptly responded “I don't think any of this is funny.” This was also in addition to the comments on my Facebook page about me teaching a humor class, which included: “You're not even funny.” “You're a cock.” “Teaching humor is impossible.” And of course “Meow!” (Thank you, Mr. Fluffers).
Needless to say I had pretty low expectations going in to this thing, but here is a list of things I learned:
1. I still look like I'm jail bait. I was helping my professor set up the coffee bar in the morning and one of the adults came in to get something. She was like, “How long do you have to help out today?” I kind of looked at her blankly then responded: “I'm one of the instructors.” She immediately went red and apologized like 40 times. She just kept apologizing and it got more and more awkward. “I'm so – I'm sorry – I just – you look, I mean, you know – you could be – I just – I'm sorry – I'm sure you'll be good – I mean, you just, you know - ?” I tried to think of something to say to make her feel better but I couldn't come up with anything, so I just kept saying “Yeah... Uhh...” at regular intervals. Throughout the whole thing she was scrambling to get her coffee and get out, and I was standing awkwardly next to the doughnuts like “Uhhh...yeah!...uhhh...”
2. I'm offensive. Part of my curriculum was showing an SNL skit called Country Roses. (If you havent' seen it...please do so now. Hysterical.) I purposely stopped the piece 2 minutes in because the word “penis” is used and I didn't want people to feel uncomfortable. Well, having circumvented that problem, I somehow forgot that one of my example passages featured the word “breasts.” It describes a dinner that a WASPy British family has when they meet a pair of biracial lesbians for the first time. Well, we get to that example passage and I ask one lady to read it out loud. She scanned ahead and says: “I am so. Sorry. This might offend some of you. It's kind of offensive, so I'm sorry. I'm sorry about it being offensive.” So she goes on to read it, and as she's reading it, I am reminded that I'm surrounded by women ages 40-70 who have probably never met a biracial lesbian or heard the word “breast” in one of these workshops before. Luckily, the one woman who was already offended (the woman who just stood up and walked out of my workshop 10 minutes in) had already left. Oops. My way of smoothing over the breast incident, of course, was to say: “I'm sorry if that offended you, too. But I guess it's too late, huh?” Which was met with a response of blank, menopausal stares. This was also the same reaction when I stated that the title of one of my next example was “The Whore of Mensa.”
3. Asians still think I'm cool. At the conclusion of the class I walked out into the hallway and a nice little Asian man approached me. He couldn't stop raving about one of the pieces I picked. It was a David Sedaris piece that reminded him of a Princeton douchebag he had met before at a conference. He shook my hand enthusiastically and has already sent me an email. At least one person appreciated my effort.
4. People think I know stuff. Another woman approached me after class was over. She tentatively asked me if I planned on teaching and looked as if she was terrified that I would say “yes.” She then asked me why I had left "double entendre" off of my list of comedic terms. I kind of looked at her and realized that she thought I knew what I was talking about – as if my humor list compiled at Caribou Coffee over 3 hours was somehow a comprehensive catalog for all humor. I blinked a couple times before telling her I had condensed the list to save time. She seemed satisfied, but I suddenly got this chill down my back as I realized: I have POWER. I have AUTHORITY.
5. I'm an attention whore. I didn't want to write “whore” there, but considering it's already been used once in this post...why not? Well, I was really nervous about the class, but then I realized that I love being in front of people – especially when they think I'm smart and have something to say. I cranked up my charm/charisma levels and just let it go. I was loud, self-deprecating, joking. As I was listening to myself give the lecture at times I just thought: “Man...you look like a douchebag up here. I bet these people thing you're a young guy who thinks he knows everything...” In that moment I came to list teaching as a kind of performance art.
The Incredibly Quotable Sassy Black Barber
I had my haircut today. The person who cut my hair can summarize the event better than I ever could:
On seeing me for the first time:
“You look just like Justin Bieber's older brother!”
On hearing the song “Grenade” by Bruno Mars:
“That boy be crazy. I'm not dyin' for no man. I'm not even dyin' for my own kids. You lay down on the railroad tracks, I say, “Okay, boy, you get up we talk about this.” I'm not jumpin' in front of some train.”
Later on hearing “He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood:
“Now I got thinking about all these songs. This girl talkin' 'bout some bleach blonde tramp. I guess all races got their anthem. This girl tear up her man's car and light stuff on fire. Whatever, girlfriend. You do it, girl.”
My haircut isn't great but the conversation was well worth the price of admission.
Other Odds and Ends:
I was told I look like Ron Weasley from the Harry Potter movies. The remark went something like this: “You look kind of famous. You look kind of like Ron Weasley from Harry Potter. You're just taller, better looking, have a different face and different color hair.” It was the worst comparison I've ever heard. “You look just like Brad Pitt, only, you know, shorter, less attractive, with no acting skills, a unibrow, a bad sense of style, and you're a woman. Otherwise it's dead on.”
I absolutely hate my classes this quarter. Loathe them. It's not that they're that bad, it's just that...I hate them. I did grad school so I could do creative work and right now it's all teaching and literary theory. Have you read a book on literary criticism? If you haven't, I can summarize it for you in a sentence: Academic people are bored and like to make up stupid things to study. Ecofeminism? Cultural studies? Deconstruction? I can count on my index finger how many people the study of literature effects. Ugh. Almost. Done. I have to write one more paper on a topic that is worthless and then I'm free of studying literature forever. Will I have to teach it...probably... But at least I can choose to talk about things that are actually relevant in the larger world, rather than how Whitman's poetry feminizes nature and shows how American poets tried to take back nature through a sexist male interpretation of the world. That didn't make sense, but it's probably the topic of a paper somewhere that undergraduate students have to read. Academia. Gross.
The other day at the cash register a customer came up to me with a return. The shirt was ancient, like from March. So the lady is like: “This is old, but I just found it and I'm from Florida.” I just kind of looked at her. I explained the policy that we can only return within 60 days and she responds: “Yeah, I know usually that's the policy, but I'm from Florida.” She then proceeds to get out her driver's license, point to the large heading, which reads FLORIDA and say, “See, I'm from Florida.” I just kind of shrugged and called a manager. The manager on duty happens to be one of my faves. Most managers will cow to whatever the customer wants. “I know this shirt is ripped in half and trampled in dirt by warthogs...but I'm a card member.” Manager: “Well, sure we can take it back!” Well, this manager comes down to deal with the issue and I proceed to explain the situation. “This customer has a return that's beyond 60 days. And she's from Florida.” (I can be a jerk sometimes.) So my manager looks at it and then is like, “We can give you the current selling price, which is 17.97.” The lady then goes into her sob story: “I'm from Florida! I drove up from Florida and bought this. Then it got lost in my car! In Florida! So I couldn't return it, but then I found it when I was driving back from Florida!” My manager just stares at her and gives her the rundown. “We can't take it back. Store policy. I'm sorry you're from Florida.” I actually left right after that because a line was forming, but I was laughing all day about it. “Yeah, I know I killed the guy...but I'm from Florida! Look! [Holds out driver's license.] Florida!”
I think that's it. My next post will deal with more Cat-focused humor as Mr. Fluffers has complained of my homo sapien-centric material. Apologies, Mr. Fluffers, but you have to remember, I'm from Florida!
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