i'm bad at my job because my brain just WON'T DIE

i'm terrible at my job, because it takes too much effort to kill this ever-whirring brain of mine every morning. and i love to make jokes, which strangers seem to hate.
case and point: i was just taking a phone message for my boss, and i asked the person calling what his name was. he hilariously answered "oberon," to which i (of course) hilariously responded, "ah, yes, king of the fairies--is there any specific message you'd like to leave," to which he totally un-hilariously answered by hanging up on me. oops? i hope this oberon character doesnt own a gun. although, if he does, it's probably made of diamond dust and krispy kreme glaze, so, no sweat.