Being Critical / Laughing

When talking to people, I often encounter a disturbing trend. Especially with people I don't know very well, people are fast to assume that me laughing at anything other than a knock-knock joke is secretly me being critical either of some aspect of them, their personality, or their personal situation.

I find this odd. I am aware that people can use ironic laughter as a weapon, but is it really so common a trend? Or, more darkly, do I simply strike people as a guy who looks like he'd be doing so all the time? Do I somehow give off vibes of being resistant to mirth? Actually, it's worse than that. It seems that people assume that when that I'm laughing I have not only judged them negatively, but have also chosen to share that verdict with them.

I don't do that. I will admit I can probably be placed in the ranks of "people critical of others." But I seem to be playing by a different set of rules there than most. I have a strong filter that tends to weed people out on just one criteria – being uninteresting. I have a very simple way of dealing with people I have no desire to speak to. I simply abandon situations where I would be forced to do so. To be honest, it's not even much of a conscious thing. The act of me doing so is completely identical to how I interact with most salespeople or other professionals. My sense of politeness inspires me to greet them respectfully, state or conduct any business that we may have, and end the encounter just as evenly. That's it. I don't burst into tears of laughing joy if I encounter someone doing something I consider silly or incorrect. In fact, I have been known to take great interest in situations where it becomes clear that I am operating under a different situational philosophy than someone else. I'll readily laugh at contrasts or ironies, but if I actually hit a point where I am forced to be critical, I usually fall quiet and try to change the subject subtly. But even that I do rarely.

I will admit, there have been exceptions to this rule, but they are severe. One that jumps quickly to mind happened in Chicago, during a recent holiday vacation. It was about 10:00 PM, and I was walking alone down a residential street. A group of young drunks were laughing and stumbling along on the other side, in the opposite direction. There were about three guys and four girls. We were the only people around in the dimly lit area. I didn't pay them much attention, until I noticed that one of them was pulling things off buildings, kicking things, and had eventually stopped and pulled a full size "Dumpster" out of an alley opening, and was pushed it in the general direction of the street. I judged.

So I handled it in my general, forcefully critical way. I stopped walking, crossed my arms, and stared at the guy pushing. He saw me quickly, because he was aiming the thing at the street across which I was standing. I continued to stare with a completely neutral look on my face. He stopped, looked at me, and paused. I wanted him to feel the weight of eyes on him. Not those of his friends, but those of the world and its values. He missed a beat, then straightened up, letting the "Dumpster" settle. He started yelling impolite phrases that he felt would explain why I was staring at him. I didn't say a word, and continued to do nothing but stare, unblinking. The shouting continued. The girls, who had previously been ignoring the destruction, started to look extremely uncomfortable. Even his male friends (who had been laughing a few seconds prior) started to took just a bit nervous. I continued to stare. He continued to shout.

Roughly 45 seconds after the shouting had started, one of his friends pulled him in the general direction they had been moving. I watched them leave, focusing at the guy who continued to shout at me as they kept going. The "Dumpster" had settled into a low point in the mouth of an alley only because the guy pushing it had noticed me before he got it into the main road, near several parked cars. It looked like the thing would be an inconvenience where it was, but it seemed likely that a car could carefully get past it. I looked again at the departing group as they moved on; the guy had stopped breaking things. After they had moved a reasonable distance down the road, I smiled faintly to myself and continued along my way.

That moment can serve to nearly perfectly define how I behave when I am being critical.

Why would I want or need to use an expression of joy as a weapon?