Like about half the country, I'm hurting badly right now. It's an overwhelming feeling, complete with nausea, hopelessness, and sudden bouts of startlingly raw emotion.
I've done my best over the past 24 hours to avoid lashing out. It'd probably feel good to point fingers and chastise those who disagree with me, but, I know that I'd ultimately regret it, and I'd just find myself with something else to feel shitty about.
I don't know why the election turned out the way that it did. I don't know if there's anything, reasonably, that anyone could have done to make things go differently. But, what I do know is that I can't work on my novel-in-progress in this emotional condition. A novel is a delicate thing--particularly a first draft--and me showing up at my keyboard on the verge of tears would almost certainly send things off the rails. I am, after all, a comedic novelist.
So, while I take a day or two off to wallow and eat mint chocolate chip ice cream in Costco-size portions, I thought I'd share a joke I recently heard that really made me laugh. My hope is that it makes you laugh, too, and maybe feel at least a little better.
I was in Oxford, MS last week with a friend to see a college football game. It was late Saturday night. I didn't particularly care about the outcome of the game, but, my friend did, and his team had lost, so we decided to get drunk at some college bars.
When it came time to go back to the house where we were staying, I discovered that the Uber situation in Oxford is delicate, and there isn't really a "traditional" taxi company in operation. Instead, the locals share random gypsy cabs to get around when they've been drinking. These cabs could be vans, sedans, SUVs, or, in our case, a stretch limousine from the 1980s with a big dent in the fender.
"Flag that guy down," my friend said. "See if he's got openings."
"What?" I said. "You mean that limo?"
The driver--a small man with an exotic Russian accent--told us to hop in. When we did, along with a great deal of neon lighting, we found two large African-American men. One was tipped over on the plush seat with his eyes closed; the other smiled and said hello.
We exchanged pleasantries. The sleeping guy briefly woke up to say hi. After a chat about the football game, we collectively ran out of things to say, which led to a few minutes of silence.
"Well, this is awkward," said the awake guy. He had a big, booming voice. "How about I tell you guys a joke?"
Technically, I wasn't in the mood to hear a joke, but I liked that the guy was talking. Silence freaks me out, especially in small, neon-lit spaces, so I encouraged him to continue. This is what he said.
"So, an Asian guy, a Mexican guy, a white guy, and a black guy all climb Mt. Kilimanjaro together. When they get to the top, they're all very excited, and they discovered that each of them is the first member of his race to make it to the top."
Side note: I really liked where this joke was heading. He went on.
"Out of nowhere, the Asian guy turns to his new friends and says, 'I'm doing this for my people,' and then he throws himself off the side of the mountain. Everyone was like, holy shit. But then, inspired by this act of selfless valor, the Mexican guy does the same thing. 'I'm doing this for my people!' and then he throws himself off the mountain, too. The white guy and the black guy just stand there and process what they've witnessed. I mean, they can't believe it. Then, suddenly, the black guy shouts, 'I'm doing this for my people!'...and then he throws the white guy off the mountain."
Stay strong, America. We'll get through this.