Rob Gilroy: Making A Stand #54
Why did the chicken cross the road? To run away from the embarrassment he caused by trying to make a joke in a social situation.
That’s why I’d cross the road. Well, either that or because they’re having a blue cross sale at the Sue Ryder shop.
One of the things I find it very hard to do is be funny socially. It’s not a skill that comes naturally to me, which for someone claiming to be a comedian, is not the best admission in the world.
That would be like a carpenter struggling to put together a Billy Bookcase on a weekend or accidentally gluing a Spitfire engine to his elbow in a freak Airfix accident. Not that I’m having a go at carpenters, I’m sure their skillset is easily transferrable.
Unless we’re talking about the band – The Carpenters – I don’t know the ins and outs of the members’ lives, but I very much doubt any of them had ‘wood work’ listed under ‘hobbies’. I bet Richard’s never even used a tapered reamer in his life.
It’s not that I don’t love telling jokes or being funny when I’m out with friends. It’s not that I’m ‘too cool’ for them – if there’s one thing I’ve proved so far with this column, it’s that I’m not ‘too cool’ for anything.
The very fact I still think ‘cool’ is a term used by the kids on the street, proves how out of touch I am with modern society. As does the phrase; ‘kids on the street’.
Anyway; jokes! Stop going off topic, you lot. The thing I hate about telling jokes is the pressure that comes with remembering every detail – what are the characters’ called? Do I have to do voices? Which one’s the Irish one?
If I try telling a joke it’s like an amnesiac trying to re-enact last night’s episode of Coronation Street; hideously misjudged and ultimately pointless. The only thing worse than telling jokes to friends, is making a joke in front of a stranger.
Unfortunately, this is a fact I neglected to remember the other day when I was out shopping with my girlfriend – who, I must point out, fully realises how useless I am in social situations and yet still brings me along. Clearly taking the responsibility into her own hands.
We had been looking for some items for the kitchen – ah, the folly of youth; it’s all toasted sandwich makers and non-stick woks, isn’t it?
Finally, we settled on a rather nice set of chef’s knives, the ones we had at home were useless – cutting into a turnip was like massaging a rock with a spoon. So we picked up the set gingerly, by which I mean ‘eagerly’ not ‘pale and freckly’.
We queued to pay for the items – that’s just how we roll (and it’s the law) – and as we approached the checkout girl, she asked the oddest question I’d every heard – “Are you over 21?”
Now, it’s not that odd, I know, but surely, if we’re buying Antony Worrall Thompson-endorsed cookware, then our taste in kitchen utensils should have set us apart from your average culinary teenager.
But before I knew what I was doing, I took one look at the knives and said; “Yes, we’re over 21, but we’re still going to stab people with them.”
The look of sheer horror on the girl’s face was matched, only by the loss of blood to my girlfriend’s.
Suddenly, I was consumed in a wave of embarrassment. Why had I said that? What on earth was I doing? Did I think it was funny?
The stuttering shop girl was lost for words – well, you would be too if Jack the Ripper had just declared his evil intentions while buying a fish slice and a colander. The only response she could muster was “please don’t…”
We left that shop very quickly, trying to avoid all eye-contact with security.
You see? This is why I don’t make jokes to strangers; no good can come of it. Well, not unless you want to end up like me – the only Carpenters fan to appear on TJ Hughes’ Most Wanted list.
