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Puppets Need Laughter To Be Real Humans
Every once in a while I simply can’t wait around for humor to find me. I have to manufacture some myself. Otherwise it is all just too much, isn’t it? Below is my latest poetic ditty in an attempt to tickle my own funny bone.
I wrote this little silly poem on my half hour lunch break yesterday at my latest temporary gig in an office. I have developed a new empathy for people who spend their lives at mind-numbingly boring, dull, unfulfilling jobs because they like to eat, have a roof, and clothe their children, all by slaving for one measly, inadequate paycheck at a time. Yesterday, the cat (boss) was away, and the “mice” began to play a bit, while still accomplishing the work they do day after day after day after day, work that has no personal fulfillment for themselves, only for other people. A small group of those who sit in the completely silent large, sterile room, like computer chained prisoners, began to come alive. I sat at my separate temp-worker desk (temp workers are both temporary saviors and pariahs), and I listened in wonderment to people I thought I understood after two weeks on the job. I was secretly and joyfully astounded, and felt much like Geppetto must have felt when wooden puppets became a real boys and girls. The otherwise surly or silent began to share little jokes and stories with each other. They laughed, they teased, and the otherwise meaningless…
