The Dumb Sh*t Is What People Remember, So Lean Into It
Let me cue this up for you in this way.
A couple of weekends ago, I had to attend the funeral of a good friend of mine. He was a few days shy of his 36th birthday when he passed. Not great. You can learn a little more here or here.
I’m 36. (Bout to be 37.) I would honestly say one of the biggest honors of my life was his brother coming up to me and asking me to do the final toast at the reception. The kid’s nickname is Squid, and a lot of people at the reception didn’t know why that was his nickname. So I was supposed to tell that deal. Thing is, that’s not a funny story.
If I’m going to end this reception, I’m going up with a couple of funny stories. I mean, that’s what he would have wanted, and that’s what people in a conference ballroom after a funeral want. Some levity.
So I got this one funny story on him, right? (I actually used about five.) But this one story a bunch of people related to me after he died. Let’s run it.
About summer 2001, we were at a party. My now-deceased friend is working security for Georgetown that summer. Basically from 4pm to midnight, he walks around checking on buildings, etc. He has a walkie-talkie on. He can go out (not supposed to drink but does), but he…
