The Launch

Chapter Ten

I had a friend in public school who was a natural born comedian and I loved to laugh. I studied him like a rare woodland creature, wondering how he elicited these strange sounds and reactions out of people. What is laughter, I pondered? What is it for? I began what, in retrospect, looks a lot like a study of comedy, although at the time I probably thought of it as no different than the books I was reading or the TV shows I was watching. I listened to tons of comedy albums, the old scratchy needle kind that played at 33 revolutions per minute on my dad's turntable. Steve Martin, Monty Python, Hee Haw, Mel Brooks, the Goon Show — whatever the library had available, I would listen to it, good, bad and awful.

You almost learn more from bad comedy. See what doesn't work and break it down to figure out why it failed. And of course, see what gets the laughs and what kinds of mechanics are at work, what the internal structure of the thing is. I started writing my own comic strips, jokes, stories, dirty notes to pass in class, drivel in my notebooks... anything. Right from the start, however, I was never as good live as I was written, showing that my talent was artificial and studied. But I'm okay with that. I recognize my limitations and always have admiration for those naturally funny people who can make others laugh effortlessly.

I think there is some of that DNA in my gene pool. My dad is a shit disturber from way back who loves to poke fun and my grandpa on my mom's side was a guy with a love of puns and always a gleam in his eye when he was winding someone up. He loved to quote from Marx Brothers films or Victor Borge's routines and would never be shy about laughing at his own jokes. Another woodland creature for me to study.

I do know that I can't seem to focus on my work on this brutally long hump day that won't hurry up and let me out of here, staring at my computer monitor, trying to focus on a customer screen, but seeing our launch package taking shape in my head. It's really coming along. We sent our electronic proof of the folder artwork to the Art Department yesterday and it should come back today with any corrections or notes for changes. I imagine it will go to print tomorrow, which is very exciting. Tonight we have to send them the final list of strips we want to include in the folders. That's all I can focus on right now.

I decide to go recharge my coffee for something to do. On my way I stop at Beth's desk.

"How's it going?" I say.

"Busy," she says.

"That's weird... isn't February usually a slow month?"

"For new business, yes, but don't forget, I'm working 60 days ahead on renewals, so I'm already into April, which is a busy month. And with all these crazy deals on cars out there, I'm doing a lot of vehicle substitutions, as well as taking calls from clients about 'How much would it cost if I bought this kind of car?'"

"Of course," I say, nodding. "I've had some of those calls."

"How are you doing on the commercial renewals I left on your desk?"

"Oh, pretty good. Still just reviewing them. Can I get you another coffee?"

"Sure, thanks." She hands me her empty mug and I walk over to the lunchroom, saying some hellos and whatnot on the way as people look up from their work. As I approach the doorway, I see to my great alarm that the boss is in there getting his own coffee, and I hesitate for a moment with two mugs in my hands with an urge to hide or duck into the washroom. Then he sees me. I take a deep breath and press on, resigned to my fate. "Morning, Donald. How goes it?"

"Oh, Watson. Good. I wanted to talk to you."

"Here I am. Talk away." I put down the mugs on the counter and Donald motions me aside and begins pouring for me.

"I've been looking at the commission reports and I'm not seeing much on the new business side for you. Are you doing much quoting?"

"I've been doing a bit, but nothing seems to stick. It's all quoting and no binding, you know what I mean?"