It beats crying

Neighbour Richy asked could he bring us

anything from Tesco. Yes please, we said. These
appeared (full) on the doorstep. Guess why

I like making people laugh. It’s socially rewarding, of course, but it also has psychological advantages.

Make someone laugh and you’ve aroused their interest. That’s always worthwhile even if it may be fundamentally selfish.

As in France where laughter can be a powerful conversational tool. Laughing Frenchmen are comparatively rare. Address one in French and he’ll immediately detect the foreign accent. His face takes on a certain remoteness, a certain condescension. He imagines he’s starting out on top.

Let’s suppose he operates a DIY shop and I’m looking for bath taps. “They must be easy to operate,” I say. He nods. I pause, then add casually, “Although I’m English I do wash regularly.”

That initial pause may disconcert him; have I been struck dumb? However the following admission will not only surprise him it may suggest this is how Frenchmen do, or should, regard Brits. Other nationalities would apologise here. Not the French. My DIY man laughs knowingly, showing he’s in on the joke. Spreads his hand on the counter, better disposed to listen, to treat me as an equal.

Doctors are different. They are endowed with built-in superiority. You are a medical conundrum that needs resolving, often a humdrum and familiar collection of defects. This mode has been repeated a thousand times.

You stop, you sigh, you wriggle in your chair. You say, “These symptom confessions are a problem. Too much detail and I appear paranoid and self-centred. Too little and I’m surly, perhaps resenting the fact you’re not a herbalist.”

Hey, I’m sympathetic. There’s not much to laugh at in the average doctor’s surgery. Especially now. Doctors enjoy an occasional laugh. Indulge them. You may save the human race.

TECHNO-NOTE
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