The Worst Medicine
I am going to start a new series called “Snapshots of a Corporate Life” in which I will be writing about the little quirks of working for a huge company. This series could just as easily be called, “How Ryan Diluted the Joy of the Last Five Years of His Life”, “They Pay me Just Enough to Not Quit” (Thank you, George Carlin), or “It’s Called Work Because Four-Letter-Words are Unbecoming of a Gentleman”. It could also be named, “I’m Not Laughing Because It’s Not Funny”.
This last possibility is in reference to one of the first things you need to know about corporate life: corporations somehow produce a humor vortex where (nearly) all genuine laughs go to echo no more. What’s funny, is not. What’s not, is funny. All irony is lost.
In the corporate world, Fake Laughter is King. It is the currency of butt-kissing. It is the perpetuator of false community. It is my nemesis.
In order to understand fake laughter, you must understand fake humor. Unfortunately, an easy definition eludes me. The best I can do is to give you an example. What follows is an actual joke from an actual meeting.
Not funny. The type of humor that Mr. Q was going for is of the “preposterous reality” variety, in which the joke-teller makes a comparison between what the audience expects to be the case and what the true reality is. To make this brand of joke work, one must be sure to make the “true reality” has three elements. 1. Preposterous 2. Clever 3. Unlikely. Mr. Q clearly whiffed on #2. Had this been his only sin, his joke would have merely been bad. (For instance, Mr. Q could have said that all Mr. X does all day at work is sleep. This would have satisfied numbers 1 and 3, but it would have been cliché rather than funny.)
But it wasn’t his only transgression. He also failed at #3. Mr. X sitting on the couch drinking beer and watching TV at work is not just unlikely, it is impossible. There is no couch at work. He does not have a TV. It absolutely could not happen. It may seem a trivial distinction, but the (however miniscule) possibility of truth is an essential element to this type of joke. Otherwise, you’re just talking crazy. (2)
What Mr. Q basically did was to achieve element #1 by betraying #3, thus not really accomplishing either. And we already established that he never hit #2. His joke was not un-funny, it simply did not exist. It sounded like a joke, it was supposed to be a joke, but, in the end, it was just a hollow shell. It looked just real enough to let the humorless people in the room know when to laugh.
That’s what I mean by fake humor. The laughter in response to it is what I mean by fake laughter.
This is my reality. Though it may seem preposterous, it is all too likely to be funny.
1. Please, please, please, no matter how great the temptation, do not become one of these people. You’ll only encourage the fake humorists.
2. People say that every joke has an element of truth. I don’t agree. Every funny joke needs an element of possible truth.
This last possibility is in reference to one of the first things you need to know about corporate life: corporations somehow produce a humor vortex where (nearly) all genuine laughs go to echo no more. What’s funny, is not. What’s not, is funny. All irony is lost.
In the corporate world, Fake Laughter is King. It is the currency of butt-kissing. It is the perpetuator of false community. It is my nemesis.
In order to understand fake laughter, you must understand fake humor. Unfortunately, an easy definition eludes me. The best I can do is to give you an example. What follows is an actual joke from an actual meeting.
Mrs. X: All Mr. X (her husband and our co-worker) does when he’s at home is sit on the couch drinking beer and watching TV. (An awkward statement, for sure, but I’ll have to save The Awkward Co-worker for another day)
Mr. Q: Well, that’s what he does all day at work too!!!
Rest of the room, except myself and a couple of other people: HA! HA! HA! HA! LORD HELP US, THAT’S SO FUNNY! HE! HO! HA! HI! (1)
Not funny. The type of humor that Mr. Q was going for is of the “preposterous reality” variety, in which the joke-teller makes a comparison between what the audience expects to be the case and what the true reality is. To make this brand of joke work, one must be sure to make the “true reality” has three elements. 1. Preposterous 2. Clever 3. Unlikely. Mr. Q clearly whiffed on #2. Had this been his only sin, his joke would have merely been bad. (For instance, Mr. Q could have said that all Mr. X does all day at work is sleep. This would have satisfied numbers 1 and 3, but it would have been cliché rather than funny.)
But it wasn’t his only transgression. He also failed at #3. Mr. X sitting on the couch drinking beer and watching TV at work is not just unlikely, it is impossible. There is no couch at work. He does not have a TV. It absolutely could not happen. It may seem a trivial distinction, but the (however miniscule) possibility of truth is an essential element to this type of joke. Otherwise, you’re just talking crazy. (2)
What Mr. Q basically did was to achieve element #1 by betraying #3, thus not really accomplishing either. And we already established that he never hit #2. His joke was not un-funny, it simply did not exist. It sounded like a joke, it was supposed to be a joke, but, in the end, it was just a hollow shell. It looked just real enough to let the humorless people in the room know when to laugh.
That’s what I mean by fake humor. The laughter in response to it is what I mean by fake laughter.
This is my reality. Though it may seem preposterous, it is all too likely to be funny.
1. Please, please, please, no matter how great the temptation, do not become one of these people. You’ll only encourage the fake humorists.
2. People say that every joke has an element of truth. I don’t agree. Every funny joke needs an element of possible truth.
posted by DeityPhobia at 5:31 PM
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