Humor and respect in America

What is humor? Something to laugh about, you'ld say. But what is worth laughing about? And when does humor stop to be laughing about? When does humor cease being humor? At what point does humor become so ridiculous, that it's no longer laugh-able? And even if you come to know that, what does 'sense of humor' mean?


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Wednesday 14 september 2005, day 3 of Listen-and-Tell in America
Rebecca's cafe, Boston, Massachusetts, United States

The man with the hat reads on the wall of the restroom of the cafe on Trenton Street: "Show some respect for the customers. Fix the toilet".
Typically humor for a restroom. You know.

Underneath is written: "Show some respect for the workers. Tell them about it". 'Tell' underlined.
Typically humor for a restroom. You know.

Again someone else wrote next to the first remark: "You should be glad there is one".
Typically a one-liner for a restroom. You know. A bit sarcastic, but stil laughable to the man with the hat.

Yet again someone else wrote next to that: "You're right, motherfucker!". Well, is that stil humor?

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Saturday 10 september 2005, two more days to go before Listen-and-Tell in America starts
Cafe De Knuistboom, Oisterwijk, the Netherlands

The taxidriver stops around the corner, as not to hinder traffic on the road to Tilburg. Not yet out of his minivan a woman approaches him. French fries in one hand, a hotdog in the other.
"You're goin' to Tilburg?". Barely understandable because of her dialect, not to mention two fries in her mouth.
"Yes, I'm to pick up two people here". Not yet has he spoken these words she shouts: "You're cummin for us. Gotta go to Kruidenlaan. Anda we ain't got more then twenty euris. So that's your problem.".

'Oh no', the driver thinks to himself. 'again one of those halfdrunk people thinking they're funny'. Thinking it's a good laugh to kid around a cabby. He estimates it to be 30 euro to the street she mentioned in Tilburg-west. By the shortest route that is. The fastest is more expensive, because longer, measured in kilometers.


They get in. She upfront, he in the back.

"Hey Joe, we only have twenty euro, so you gotta do with what you gonna get". 'Oh no. He too', the driver again thinks to himself. 'How come drunk people have such a funny sense of humor'. Though neither appears to be really drunk. Gay, and a lot of verbal noise, okay. Actually a whole lot of verbal noise, especially she. But not really drunk. Let's just say tipsy.

Horrofied he watches the spectacle next to him. The woman sits with both plates of junkfood on her lap in the van. His horror comes from the yet newly state of the van. Just one year old, stil both inside and outside clean and wholesome. That might well be different after a ride Oisterwijk-Tilburg combined with alcohol, mayonaise and ketchup.

"It's not allowed to eat inside the van. Would you be so kind to eat your fries and hotdog outside? I'll wait for you".
"Uh. I'll decide for me self when to eat these. I've waited a damned three quarters for it. And hurry up, will ya? We ain't got whole day. Did we tell yu yet that we ain't got more than twenty euri?".
"No worries about the money. I'll bring yu home for 20 euro". The driver can't help going along speaking Tilburg-dialect. The ongoing nagging about the 20 euro is beginning to annoy him. It's wrong, he knows, but stil.

Had he thougt his promise would have silenced the dull joke, he was sourly mistaken. The entire drive they keep nagging about the 20 euro. Now, is that humor?

Also in other respects the two have a different sense of humor than the driver. At a certain point he's getting enough of the woman's big mouth and arrogance. Especially as she start interfering with his way of driving, extra careful untill she woman has finished eating her food. And the both of them complain about the route, the shortest therefore the cheapest. As if he's not familiar with Tilburgs streetplan.

In return he starts foulmouthing her too. The language becomes more vulgar, the words more coarse and the volume louder. Shouting and screaming they're heading for Tilburg. With a detour, because he decided to give them their way.

At the Loon op Zand-road it gets out of hand. He by now really has had enough of her and tells her to leave the car. Obviously she refuses. A scuffy arises over the carkeys. He almost breaks her fingers as she scratches his bold head. Causing a light trail of blood.

Eventually it turns out well. Though not before a cooling-down that lasts at least fifteen minutes. What a different sense of humor can lead up to.


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Tuesday 13 september 2005, day 2 of Listen-and-Tell in America
Washington Dulles International Airport, Washington DC, United States

"We are not kidding here". Austerely and reproachful, that's how the little airport-employee with the friendly face speaks to the man with the hat. Indeed, security is a serious matter. Especially at airports. No place for humor. Therefor, the man with the hat was being serious. "I'm not kidding. I'm serious".

He stands in the long line in front of passport-control. The friendly airport-employee had attracted his attention before. A little asian man. Japanese probably, chinese maybe. Decently dressed; darkblue trousers, white shirt, darkblue necktie. Presumebly an airport-tie, maybe the American Immigration Bureau. He does all kind of small jobs. Replaces the poles with the bands, so the stream of incoming passengers is most efficiently lead to the boots. Shows the frontmost people to the appropriate boot. If neccesary allocating them to the boots for US citizens, far less croudy. What you may call someone who's capable of doing anything.

And he checks each passenger the green visa-slip. So the man with the hat.

"Where in America are you going?". The line at 'adress' shows nothing but a hyphen. As is reality.
"I don't know yet". Again as is reality.
"But surely you are going somewhere?".
"Yes. I'm on my way to Boston. Washington is just a transfer.".
"And where in Boston are you going?".
"I don't know yet.".
"But surely you have an adress to go to?".
"No. After arrival I'll make a few phonecalls, and then I'll know where I'm going.".
"You got to fill in an adress.".
"Even if I don't have one?".
"Like I said. U got to fill in an adress.".
"Okay. Does it matter what adress?"

The hat doesn't feel at ease. He understands too well the friendly japanese American is tryoing to help him. Understands too well he's not the right officer to start a discussion with. On the other hand he doesn't like to fill in just anything, knowing that's not true. Allthough is pretty well aware of the fact that's only common in these matters.

"I don't want to start a discussion with you.", the airportman says,"I'm only trying to help. You'll have difficulties at the immigration-officer if you don't fill in an adress.".
"I'll say it as it is. If the immigration-officer wants me to fill in any adress, I'll be happy to do so. But that's not the same as me doing it by my self.".
"As you wish".

A few instants later the employee picks the hat out the line and allocates him to one of the boots. It's his turn rightaway. The immigration-officer doesn/t spend much time on the man with the hat. "Look. You have to fill in an adress. Anyone entering the US has to. As for me, you write down Mainstreet, Disneyland. As long as it is not blank"
"As you wish".
The hat writes down 'Marriot Hotel, Boston'. The officer puts down a stamp and waves him to proceed.

The hat realizes the irony. It's wrong to say as it is. It's correct to be incorrect. It makes him question just how serious these security-measures are. If it doesn't matter what a visitor fills in, it might just as well not be asked.

On the other hand he realizes is own overly rigidness. Who's to say when to abide by the letter of the law, and when to bend in a little. To hassle with the truth a little.

ton