A Bean Counter is Never the Life of the Party – Unless They’ve Turned Humor Writer

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I spent 20 years in the accounting field.  I was never expected to be the life of the party.  A bean counter never is.  If I occasionally zipped out a zinger that made people laugh, it was just a bonus.

English: Picture of Azuki Beans. The ones show...

Day in…day out…I counted these.  I was so boring. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

But now that I’m a writer, and more specifically a humor columnist, I carry a special new responsibility.  I’m expected to be the life of the party; even if that expectation is only in my mind.  I just can’t seem to help myself.

We had dinner with another couple last night and my newfound responsibility got me in trouble.  The wife is a former co-worker of mine.  She caught me up on the office gossip that I could not have cared less about.

Which brings to mind the question, why do people say “I could care less”?  If you could care less, then wouldn’t that mean you have some measure of caring when you are trying to purvey the message that you really COULDN’T CARE LESS which is what you should have said in the first place?

Who’s on first?  I Don’t Know.  Then who’s on Third?  Who’s on first?

Abbott (right) and Costello, 1942

They just don’t make Sunday afternoon movies like they used to make.  Abbott (right) and Costello, 1942 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So back to dinner and how my newfound responsibility got me in trouble.  I felt an unbelievable pressure all evening to provide snappy one-liners.  I did a good job, too, which is surprising because another friend of mine–yes, I have more than one–was always the one that should have manned the 1-800-OH-NO-SHE-DI’UHNT Hotline.

I did it at Bunco the other night too, but since my Compadres for the evening could have been subscribers of the suburban paper that carries my humor column, I censored myself a little more.  Except for when we were in the garage and my filter completely disintegrated to the point that I called my son an asshole for a laugh.

It went like this:

Soccer Mom1:  Your husband is such a great soccer referee…our girls just love him.
Soccer Mom2:  Absolutely!  He’s much better than that other referee.

Soccer Mom5: (‘Cause Soccer Mom3 & Soccer Mom4 were huddled in the bathroom talking about the other 9 soccer moms and the sub they invited, being me) The one with the red hair?

Soccer Mom2: Yesh (’cause she was tipsy), that’s him!
Me: That’s my son.
Soccer Mom2: OMG! I’m so sorry.
Me: It’s okay. I know he’s an asshole.

<Everyone laughs, which was really the point.>

The Eldest didn’t think it was too funny when I told him about it later that night!  In retrospect, I can understand how he could actually care less about the situation, whereas I really couldn’t care less that he could care less.

Who’s on first?  I Don’t Know.  Then who’s on Third?  Who’s on first?

So back to dinner and how my newfound responsibility got me in trouble.  We laughed and laughed and talked about the dedication of my first published novel that is going to read, “To Denny.  If you hadn’t fired me, I wouldn’t be where I am now.  Thank you.  No, really.  See that picture on the back jacket?  That’s me! Thank you.”

Then Chief Money Maker said, “You got fired?  I thought you quit.”

“Kinda sorta both.  When I asked if I’d be eligible for rehire and he said ‘We’ll see after the two weeks’ I figured those two weeks of doing nothing I’d planned to do at the office could be more fun from the comfort of our sectional sofa so I just didn’t go back.”

Chief shot me a look.  I smiled and said, “But hey, I bet this would make a good blog.  Who wants a boring ole bean counter anyway?”

<Wink>

***Legal Disclaimer***

Any resemblance of Soccer Mom1,Soccer Mom2, Soccer Mom3, Soccer Mom4, and Soccer Mom5 to the actual Soccer Moms I based their representation upon is purely accidental because I’m not that great of a writer.

© 2012 CThacker

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