It is quite ironic, and a little bit disturbing, that the series of events leading up to me laughing harder than I have in years started out with something happening that was far from funny.
It all started when a colleague and friend, Dylan, ran off the roof of a two-story building. Yes, you read that correctly: He ran off the roof of a building. It turns out that he and some friends were having a barbecue on the roof of that building -- at 6 in the morning -- when someone dared Dylan to touch all four corners of the building as fast as he could. Dylan, of course, agreed to the challenge, and ended up running a bit too far at one point.
To give Dylan credit, he landed on his feet. Unfortunately, the surface for Dylan's landing was, according to his version of the events, South Virginia Street. (I am not making this up.) Seeing as gravity is one hell of a bugger and South Virginia is not a soft surface, the end of his run/flight was more of a crash landing.
Once it dawned on one of Dylan's friends that somebody had just jogged into the morning sky, someone went down stairs, picked up the heap that was Dylan, and carried him upstairs. After staring at him for a while, one of the group the decided it might be best to take Dylan to the hospital.
Dylan ended up being very lucky, sort of, in the sense that his spine and brain were unhurt. However, he ended up breaking one leg and shattering a heel on the foot attached to his other leg -- both injuries that required surgery. He should fully recover, although he will be in a wheelchair for several months.
Seeing as Dylan is indeed a friend and colleague -- he is a freelancer for the Reno News & Review, where I work -- I decided it would be appropriate to buy a get-well card for him and circulate it around the office for people to sign. I also sent out an e-mail to everyone in the office to let them know what had happened, especially because erroneous rumors were circulating about the extent of Dylan's injuries (one rumor was that he'd never walk again).
I got the card and started passing it around. Everyone on my side of the building -- including the office staff and the various editors of the paper -- knows Dylan. But not all of the people in the back of the office -- such as the advertising executives -- know him. I ended up explaining who he was to most of them, including Chris, one of the executives who winced in pain as I recounted what had happened to Dylan.
Late in the day, after the card had made its way around the office, I retrieved it and started to seal the envelope. However, curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to read what everyone wrote.
The comments to Dylan ranged from the obvious ("Get well soon") to the sarcastic ("Nice move, Superman!") to the downright disturbing ("At least the important parts were not damaged," wrote Theresa, an ad exec who had never met Dylan). However, it was the comment from Chris -- one of the last people to sign the card, who signed it right after we discussed what had happened to Dylan -- that got my attention.
Dylan,
Happy birthday!
Chris
I started howling with laughter immediately. This got attention of Kelley, one of my fellow editors, who came running into my office. In between guffaws, I snorted and gestured toward the card -- and Chris' words. She picked it up, and joined me in laughing uncontrollably. Everyone left in the office would eventually see the card and start snickering as well.
It took me -- honest to God -- a half-hour to stop laughing. I had to sit down three separate times, because I would get up to do something, only to be again crippled with laughter when I imagined the conversation I'd have with Chris the next morning.
"Hey, Chris! I just wanted to let you know that, um, it isn't Dylan's birthday. That was a get-well card. He, well, fell off a building."
Anyway, it all ended well. Chris was embarrassed by his error, and now everyone in the office has something to harass him about. Dylan, when I gave him the card and told him the story, laughed so hard I was afraid he'd fall out of his wheel chair.
The moral of this story? Well, pay attention while signing random cards that circulate around the office, for one thing.
Another thing? When hurting, it doesn't hurt to laugh. It truly can be some of the best medicine available.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan. His column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.