After a harrowing, anxiety ridden trip to the dentists, I walk myself to my old local cafe. Inside is relief. It's warm, in terms of lighting and heating and friendliness. Welcoming. I get seated almost immediately, despite the line, for today I was a single eater. I'm pointed to a large table, and encouraged to sit at the end, share the table. I walk up to it, pull out the chair, and as I sit down I look straight into the eyes of Andy Lee, comedian and famous person. As in the Andy from Hamish and Andy. Shit. There is literally no where to go. He says hello, testing me. His 6 friends are watching me. No, I didn't wear make up this morning to the dentists. Can I plug my app? No, not appropriate. Can I say something funny and cut the awkward? Nuh. Can I keep face? Yes. I say hello and take my seat. True story.
This is a post I wrote on Facebook this week, and it got a lot of love.
It was incredible that I had walked myself into Andy's personal space. His greeting was more of a "What do you think you're doing?" than anything else. But it was also an opportunity to cut through the awkward and have a good old laugh. The possibility that I'd say something hilarious hung in the air as Andy and his friends waited for my response. I declined the opportunity, in order to save face. This is why I'll never be able to ski: when faced with a threatening though probably exhilarating situation, I'll sit it out and think righteously about the health of my knees.
The Hamish and Andy story is one that I particularly love. They met at uni and laughed their way through their tutorials. They got a gig and rose to fame. Now they've interviewed Hilary Clinton. Twice.
Because of this accidental run-in with this attractive radio and TV personality, I've been taking note of the Hamish and Andy paraphernalia more than ever. Billboards, pop-culture comments, even Annabel Crabb and Leigh Sales are directing my attention to them, in their Chat 10 Looks 3 Podcast. I am reminded that I went to school with Hamish's cousin twice removed, a fact this person never failed to remind us (though I don't think she'd ever met him).
It has also made me think about comedy. When I'm nervous, often when I'm about to do public speaking, I use humour to get myself out of the awkward. I'm sure most of us do. For me, this is a really surprising situation and indeed it's taken me years to come to accept that I can be funny. And I'll tell you why. I am a serious person. I studied Politics, researched the migration of the most marginalised people, and I made a recycling app, for goodness' sake! If you ask my friends if I'm funny, they will not truthfully be able to agree. They'll say kind, cute, intelligent - at least I hope! But they wouldn't be able to say funny. I have so many stories of my seriousness reflected back at me: my hairdresser when I was 15 telling me so as he cut my hair, playing Cards Against Humanity and never winning but, when my card is read, having "awwww, so deep, so philosophical!" exclaimed from the crowd. So when I get up to do some public speaking, it is strange that I turn into something almost of a comedian.
I've been wanting to emulate Leigh Sales and Annabel Crabb for a while now, but now I also want to emulate Hamish and Andy.
My mission, if I choose to accept, is to connect my seriousness and my humour.