You get into a taxicab after getting out of the airport. “Where to?” the driver speaks. Jokingly, you respond, “Whatever dumb secret agency is nearby.” “Code phrase accepted, agent” he responds. For a second you are taken aback by this unforeseen event that had happened because of somewhat of a dumb joke. You had watched James Bonds reruns for the last few weeks with uneven intervals of stand-up comedy on YouTube/Netflix, and the result was a line so ill formed in your jet lagged mind that you wouldn’t have conceived of this result even in your wildest imagination. Then as the yellow-black vehicle meanders through the streets near the airport, heading downtown, you stutter to the driver, half-scared, and half-shocked-and-curious, “H-h-hey driver, that was a joke where are you taking me?” The driver looks in the rear-view mirror, makes eye contact with you and the corner of the right of his mouth arches in a smirk, and says, “Excellent, agent Sleepy Chaplin, that’s the exact response we expected from you. Hold tight, the folks at the agency will sort you out.” Now you are even more dumbfounded, and your fuzzy mind reveals flashes of the past you do not recall having experienced before. The taxi screams to a halt and the driver motions for you to head to the door of a comedy club, you gather your backpack and your carry-on Samsonite and exit the cab. You watch the driver take off as you notice him almost giggling. A large gulp gathers in the back of your throat as you slowly shift towards the doors. You enter the large and abandoned club and head towards the stage where a solitary figure sits behind a receptionist’s desk. “Um hello, I’m Kevin, I don’t know why I’m here, this weird man in a taxi-cab brought me here.” you say, trying to appear cool and nonchalant. “Hi Kevin Heinrich-”, the now visible man says as you interrupt him. “b-but I didn’t tell you my last name.” “Well, we here at the Central Comic Agency have kept tabs on you from the time you were born. Forget your last name, we even know what that you had a grilled cheese before you halted the taxi.”, he says as if he was reciting a well-known fact. “Head towards that backstage door and press your right hand on that wooden panel”. You obey his directions, trusting him despite all of it being absolutely ludicrous. As soon as all of your fingers, all four of them touch the screen, the door that seemed like it would swing open, retracts towards one side and you step into a brightly lit room. Inside you see mic stand-upon-mic stand, arranged in neat rows and columns, all together 10-by-10 you count as you head toward the end of the hall. There, you find a set of stairs leading to a room overlooking this hall. As you step inside, a man who was looking out on the streets from a window, turns to you and gestures in the most frivolous of bows, “Welcome Agent Sleepy Chaplin, we have been waiting to activate you since the end of the cold-war. The nations in Europe were once joyous and loving of the arts, Shakespeare, Mozart and the Chaplins and pantomimes of Europe. Now it is your chance to rid your countrymen of their oh-so-serious façade. You will train with us as a stand-up comic and follow those who came before you, your namesake Charlie Chaplin, Rowan Atkinson, Eddie Muphy, Sacha Baron, you get the idea. You will bridge the divide brought about by politics and all the evils of men and use your gifts to unite the people of this earth, barred by no religion nor race nor creed!” You’ve always loved comedy, so even while doubting your ability to unite the masses, you shrug and say, “Sure thing chief”.