Missing in action...one funny bone!

OK...so it has been more than a month since I found anything remotely funny. And that was my colonoscopy. Shows you how I have been viewing the world of late if that was the funniest thing that has happened to me since June!

I thought of all kinds of topics that intrigued, offended or vaguely amused me...but none worthy of more than a paragraph or two. The garbage strike here in Toronto resulting in festering piles of fetid garbage, Michael Jackson's worshipful fans beating their collective breasts in angst, having to pay five cents if I need a plastic bag at the grocery store in Ontario's zealous move to join the environmentally-friendly crowd. They all gave me pause for a tirade or, at the very, least mock humor.

You can bet I had a few choice words for each and every one of those topics. But did I find them really funny? Hell, no. The garbage situation stinks, the Michael Jackson event was just another bizarre episode in a bizarre life that includes his bizarre fans, bizarre kids and bizarre father, and the plastic bag "charge" is annoying - just add the damn money to the price of the merchandise. I do take cloth and reusable bags out with me now everywhere I go...but I find myself in the store with a cart full of groceries and, as usual, forgot the bags in the trunk of the car. Hence, I pay for bags...again and again. I have become a bag lady. Finally!

I don't know which elbow my funny bone is located in...but I have felt both the right and left arm and something is just not there. Missing in action? Dislocated? Ingrown? A stress fracture at the very least.

Now the source of my sense of humor failure could be that I joined the working throngs again a few weeks ago. Don't get excited friends...it is merely a contract and I shall be hitting you up for free drinks again anytime soon. In fact, how does the end of July sound? Gin, heavy on the tonic, no ice.

While the journey to work on what passes for public transit in this so-called world-class city is depressing enough (strap hangers who don't use deodorant or people with PERSONAL listening devices stuffed in their ears turned up so loud that even I can hear the music four seats away) ... it is the tender age of my co-workers that has me even more humor depleted.

Well, not so much my immediate co-workers, of course. (Hell, they might read this...and I have to say right here and now they are LOVELY people.) But I had the bad luck of being assigned the "empty" cubicle which is directly behind my own workmates' cubicles and directly in front of two people from another area of the company. It is these neighbors that cause me grief.

They are young, young, young...and they talk, talk, talk. All day, every day, non-stop. I keep wondering when any work is taking place. The chatter is all about playing Guitar Hero, preparation for a brother's wedding, how drunk some buddies got at the weekend or the latest news on when little "Johnny" spit up or had a bowel movement.

It is really hard to concentrate on my own work with this constant racket going on. I mean girls will be girls, but the odd thing is that I sit in front of two young guys. Yup! Men, guys, hombres, hommes -- not giggling, gossipy gals. Who said women talk a lot? We got a bum rap! These two guys make most women seem like we took a vow of silence and joined a nunnery. I started referring to them (behind their backs) as "the girls" on my second day at the office.

From 9:30 a.m. to around 4 p.m. (which is about the time they settle down and decide they actually need to turn in some work to merit a pay cheque), these dudes (one definitely under 30, the other around 30 ... but seemingly more like 12) chatter. One is totally besotted by his offpsring. Now I am all for modern-day fatherhood. Burp the kid, change the diapers, take the lad out for a walk...but I have been subjected to every poop deposit, burp, tinkle on the toy piano, banging of drumsticks on a pot lid that this kid has ever produced. Day in, day out. No infant prodigy moment has missed my ears. It is like no kid in the history of the world, since Adam was a sprout, has ever done these things.

It's OK buddy...your sperm works. Cajones are up to snuff. Enough already! You have a kid, we get it. The kid does, well, it does what kids do. Eats, take a dump, and bangs on pot lids. End of.....

And you know those really irritating voices? The one's that announce, "I am talking to my deskmate...but I REALLY WANT YOU GUYS TO HEAR ME FOUR DESKS AWAY!" Well, that's daddy-O. Unfortunately, I am one desk away.

The younger guy is single with a girlfriend. He doesn't talk quite so much...but then he doesn't have a kid to brag about, does he? But I did hear how many delicious meals his lady can make with a can of condensed soup. Lucky guy! Marry her, marry her now. Do NOT let this Julia Child wannabe get away or you will be forever doomed to a dinner of Big Macs.

So, yeah, I am not feeling the humor. Attention deficit disorder is rampant! And working right nextdoor to me.

I am left wondering what happened to good old-fashioned manners? The workplace is for work....have your coffee breaks, lunch breaks, spend an hour in the bathroom reading the paper. I don't care. But don't talk all day (about absolute drivel) and prevent me from doing my work.

Or I will take great pains to find my funny bone...sharpen the end and toss it over the cubicle wall. But alas, even if it hits its mark, I suspect all I would hear is the tell-tale hissing escape of hot air.

Sometimes...you've just gotta laugh! Or not!