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Storytelling and the humorless lump

March 2, 2011

A memory came to me the other day, as I was thinking about telling stories.

When I was in college, I knew this guy. Turns out he was a humorless lump, but I didn’t see that in him. Unfortunately, I didn’t see that in him for a couple of years. Guess I’m a slow learner.

One of my classes at SU was in Crouse College, a castle-looking building that had been built in 1889.

While some spaces in Crouse were very grand, others weren’t as wide open as newer buildings. My class was on the second or third floor, and I would go up a small, back staircase and come through a doorway immediately into the main hallway. One day, I came out of the stairwell and there was a huge – and I mean huge – St. Bernard laying practically across the entire hallway. He was ignoring all the traffic around him and, in fact, acting like king of the castle. Everyone else, meanwhile, was just stepping over him, not even remarking on the oddity of the huge dog in the building. It was as though there was a tacit agreement to ignore the elephant in the room, or in this case, the St. Bernard.

Later that day, I was telling this guy the story, describing the crowded hallway, the size of the dog, the position he was laying in, the reaction of the people, etc. I noticed that my friend had a funny look on his face, and when I finished with the story, I asked what was wrong. I have a long-winded way of telling a story, he told me. I asked what he meant, and he just repeated himself. I pressed further, asking how he would tell the story. His answer: “There was a dog in Crouse today.”

Told you – a humorless lump.

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From → Rambling stories

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