It Happened At Hardees

Well, I was tired. And then...depression set in.

I was driving to work yesterday morning, a little earlier than usual owing to the fact that it's getting lighter earlier and, I don't know, the gods must be smiling upon me to get me into work on time lately. I decided I'd treat myself to breakfast along the way, so instead of heading into town to work, I headed in the opposite direction the block or so to Hardee's, where the breakfast is good and the old people are rude. But I was going through the drive-thru; they could slam the front door in someone else's face.

Friday is the day of local essays on the public radio station I listen to. It's the station I read a couple of my own essays on. I don't get to hear many of them because I'm generally hightailing it to work about 3 minutes after they're finished. But occasionally I hear a good one.

A few weeks ago a lady read hers and it was about our boys overseas (her own son is one), and about how everytime she sees a report on TV about trouble in the Middle East, she imagines the scenario of two officers coming to her house to tell her her son's been killed. It was quite vivid and well, creepy, though it was well-written and I certainly feel for what she goes through. Anyway, it must have garnered quite a public reaction, because for about two weeks after there was a link on the station's website where you could listen to it again.

So I was heading to Hardee's, and the Civil War Guy was on. The Civil War Guy is on every single Friday right before the local essays. The Civil War Guy is a professor at Va Tech who takes one person or one event from the Civil War and each week expounds upon it at length. It's not so bad really, especially if you like the Civil War, and let's be honest, who doesn't, thanks to Ken Burns, except for one small thing. The Civil War Guy has a speech impediment. He can't say his Rs. So you get sentences like "Genewal Lee's awmy mawched thwough the Nowth..." well, you get the idea. Let's put it this way, while he's not as bad as Michael Palin's Pilate in "Life of Brian," it's still kind of like being taught the Civil War by Elmer Fudd.

And so I was stuck in the drive-thru line, listening to Professor Elmer finish up his story for the week, which he did, and then they introduced the essay. And I listened to it. And I came to the sad realization.

There are people out there funnier than I am.

This week's essayist told the story of walking along a wooded path behind her house one morning and seeing a blob of fur, what surely was a wounded animal rolling in pain and fighting for its life. She called her dog away from it and watched, unsure as to what to do, when it finally flopped its last and became still. So she went over to see what it was and what had happened, only to find that it was her wig, which the stiff wind had blown off her head earlier in the walk, unbeknownst to her.

She then went on to tell us how she'd gotten started wearing a wig several years ago (the world's worst haircut), and how it'd become as much a part of her as an arm or eye. But she also told us some pitfalls of being a wig-wearer. My favorite was that her cats like to nestle in it at night, and so manys the morning she rises from bed and tries to put a cat on her head, which always ends up hissing and scratching at her. She also described the look on her grandson's face the first time he saw her remove her hair and put it on the nightstand. And how, after that, he thought everyone's hair could be yanked off, and tried it often.

It had me in stitches, there waiting for my biscuit. But when it was over, I realized. I'm a hack! I'm a pretender!

I don't know why it should hit me like it did. It should be no big surprise - I mean, I have friends who are way funnier than I am.

I guess I just haven't had to listen to them on the radio.