She let out a sigh so deep I could practically see her shoulders slump, despite the wall separating our desks.
It was hardly the first time she had made such a sound. Working in an office such as ours – not to mention social work, in general – tends to have that effect on its employees. We take on the mental and emotional burdens of our patients, helping them to sort through the various circumstance they face each day. Even in the best of moments, when we are able to collaborate with our patients and other providers to carry those loads, the additional weight still empties our stores relatively quickly.
There was a slightly different tone to this sigh, though. She hadn’t gotten a call about a child being hospitalized or a parent unhappy with her family’s treatment. The phone lay still on her desk and the notifications of new emails remained silent. Her resigned exhale had nothing to do with work, in fact.
She had just heard me tell one of my jokes.
My coworkers who sit nearest to me have been hearing my jokes for the last six years (it took me about two years at the job to really hit my stride, not to mention find the right audience). For better or worse – a distinction that depends heavily on one’s perspective – my sense of humor has made its presence known through puns, one-liners and other jokes. Whether they all fall under the category of “dad jokes” is up for debate. Dad jokes seem to be, by definition, groan-worthy; the louder the better, of course. But I take pride in having managed to prompt the occasional guffaw along with the eye rolls. They don’t come every time, but when they do…
I was trying to decide recently which reaction I prefer. Would I rather a laugh, a genuine show of enjoyment and appreciation for wordplay? Am I looking to lighten my coworkers’ moods with examples of wit? Or, do I want to hear grunts and groans so loud that they border on physical pain? Is it better for me to incite reactions of anger and frustration, faux or otherwise, peppered by the occasional curse?
I’ll be honest… I’m actually not sure what the answer is.
I enjoy laughter. Laughter may not always be the best physical medicine – it’s not penicillin, for instance – but it does help. It relaxes nerves, lowers blood pressure and eases the tension that builds in our muscles every second of every day. If I got a laugh every time I made a pun – just a laugh, without anything extra – I’m sure I’d be content.
There is something, though, about the anger, the curses, even the insults that I sometimes get in return. There’s something about the negativity that covers the laughter that provides a little extra satisfaction. It’s not that I enjoy making people angry; on the contrary, if I thought the anger was genuine and not just a way to conceal appreciation for the joke, I wouldn’t continue making them. It’s more about getting a stronger reaction, even if doing so means hearing answers through gritted teeth or sighs.
And, lest you thought I saved these moments only for my coworkers, rest assured that I subject my family to just as many amazing quips.
It’s fine. My son is allowed to think I’m weird, just as my coworkers are allowed to say that they hate my inane comments. I’m going to keep sharing my jokes, horrible or hilarious, “dad-versions” or generic, because I know that, deep down, everyone loves them. The office would be a much quieter, more solemn and, frankly, more boring place to spend each day without those injections of humor.
And, really, where’s the pun in that?
