My Dabble in Mensa
Mensa hired me.
A tall, awkward man approached me after a comedy show.
“I have a joke for you,” he bent at the waist, putting his mouth in earshot. “There are three types of mathematicians in the world: Those who can do math ... and those who can’t.” He stood back up and grinned an expectant grin.
I smiled. Comics can be brazen when people don’t know there’s a distinction between monology and formulaic jokes, even though we call our stuff ‘jokes,’ but I was gracious. I just quietly decided that Andrew and I wouldn’t be having children together.
“Your stuff would work at Mensa,” he said, giving me his card.
“Oh, thanks, Andrew Langworthy, software developer! But listen: I dropped out of high school and college and became a stand-up comic. I don’t think I’m smart enough for you guys.”
I was handing out red flags. A therapist once told me my father and brother’s deaths, which bookended my teen years, set me up to avoid risk: Let me show you what you’ll hate about me!
Anyway, I talked to the guy organizing the conference. He told me I could do a ‘practice gig’ at their regional conference in San Diego first to see if I was a fit.
The regional gig went well. I custom-designed a few jokes for them. They were thrilled. Mensans are sports.
“You were hi-larious!” A sexy, buxom blonde named Bunny invited me to her table.
“Oh, you’re so friendly! Thanks!”
“Yeah, some of us are.”
“I’m not.” Pradeep, a doctor from India, said, with a deadpan expression that I associate with funny.
I laughed, but he wasn’t joking. He told me he had memorized a “Miss Manners” book to learn the rules of human interaction, so he knows how to be friendly; it’s just not a priority. He had pink eyes and white skin. I immediately wanted to date him, although I knew it wouldn’t work out. This is embarrassing, but I was interested in him for the novelty. My brother busted me for toying with men like that once.
At Pradeep’s house, photographs of brown-skinned people with this one little pinkish-white dude decorated the living room.
I told Pradeep the sob story of my childhood. He looked blankly at me, indistinguishable from any other look he had in his arsenal, and said, “Vanda, I’m an Albino. From India.”
Point taken. Had to have been rough.
Soon, “National Mensa Conference, Pittsburgh” showed on my calendar.
“I’m in Pittsburgh, Gateway to the West!” I told a friend on the phone as I approached the historic Omni Hotel.
A human wearing a costume approached **** and waited for the light with me. I assumed He must have been silly like most people in costumes. He should have been spinning a sign.
“Kristina, I said, loud enough for the guy to hear, “There’s a guy -I guess it’s a guy - in an animal costume. Some sort of, I don’t know, a mouse? A rodent or something.”
The creature turned to me and stomped his adorable paws on the sidewalk. He squealed in a high-pitched whine.
“I’m a kitty!”
I played along.
“I’m so sorry. I mistook you for your prey!”
This was my first ‘Furry.’
The kitty and I crossed the street. With a flourish, he motioned for me to step into the hotel lobby.
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