OCTOBER 10, 2020 – The recent square-off between Pence and Harris wasn’t a “debate.” It was 90 minutes of non sequiturs and carefully rehearsed “talking points.”
“It reminded me of the time that” . . . as a guest on a local Boston TV talk show, my oldest sister, a champion high school debater, told a funny story.
I don’t remember the funny story, but I remember the funny story about the funny story.
My sister had been invited by the talk show producer to appear on an upcoming installment devoted to “balancing kids and profession.” She’d be joined by several other parents. After my sister accepted, the producer gave her the lowdown on show format and other details. The producer highlighted a key ingredient: funny stories. “Think of an especially funny story to tell the audience,” said the producer. “Something topical but amusing.”
In anticipation of her appearance, my sister dwelt on her cache of funny stories. She consulted husband and friends. She auditioned her stories and kept careful score of responses. She then picked the funny story that would make her the star of the show.
Finally, the big day arrived, and my sister got herself to the studio in ample time to meet the producer, assistant producers, fellow guests, and eventually, the show host. Surely none of the other guests had brought a story as funny as my sister’s, and no one would be able to match her delivery. As a professional violinist with more public appearances to her name than there are notes in a Paganini Caprice—and who talks beautifully to her audiences, as well—my sister brought a performer’s presence to the talk show stage.
As air time approached, guests were shepherded into place. When the “ON AIR” light went on, my sister was ready to bring down the house.
The host greeted the in-studio audience and remote viewers, announced the day’s topic, and introduced the guests. A lively discussion ensued for the entire scheduled time—but at no juncture did the host solicit “funny stories.” As the show wound down, my sister realized the host wasn’t going to ask for an amusing tale.
But telling a funny story had been the main point of appearing on the show! My sister was desperate—all her efforts were coming to naught.
The host said, “We have time for just one more question.” I forget what the question was, but it didn’t have “funny” in it, and topically, it had nothing to do with the substance of my sister’s “funny story.”
The first two or three guests gave serious and relevant responses. When my sister’s turn came, she was still determined to amuse the crowd. “That reminds me,” she said with a big smile, “of the time that . . .” She then proceeded to tell her funny, wholly non-responsive story. In the moment, it was a full-scale flop.
She laughed in telling me the story of her story. It was a testament to her sense of humor that she could make fun out of her flop.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
