You know the type: you're in church or some formal type situation, something strikes you funny, you almost burst with pent-up laughter which you can't control. Afterwards, you realize what triggered your mirth wasn't even funny after all.
The first time I remember its happening to me was at my grandmother's wake when I was 12 years old. In those times the deceased was often waked in their home and so it was with my grandmother. The funeral director would set up chairs in the room where the coffin was and where the service was to be held. Back then the priest would come to the house and would lead the assembled in reciting the Rosary. Also true in those times that meant the entire Rosary, not just one decade as happened later before they pretty much abolished the whole ritual. The point is that the recitation was serious business and took about 15 or 20 minutes. At my grandmother's wake, I was sitting next to my cousin Shirley in the wooden chairs that the funeral director provided. The chairs were brown with the name of the funeral home faintly stenciled in yellow on the back. At some time part way through the Rosary, sitting and staring at the backs of the chairs in front of us, we made out the lettering to decipher the name---Sandvich. To at least Shirley and me, that read Sandwich, which struck us as extremely hilarious. The word sandwich printed on a chair during the recitation of the Holy Rosary at a wake, our grandmother's no less. I don't think anybody else ever detected our situation but I can still recall the distress we were under, stifling the giggling fit was actually painful.
A similar stifling occurred much later. I was on Grand Jury Duty in Troy. Mostly the accused did not appear, but the assistant D.A. would present the case against them. The majority of the cases during the month-long period consisted of drug selling and child abuse allegations, usually of the funny-uncle genre. But one memorable case was an arrest for breaking and entering. The person whose home was broken into appeared in person to relate what happened. I forget the details but the intruder was apparently a man wearing a woman's wig. (No mention of trans or such back then.) The home owner discovered someone pushing into his home from an attached garage and he pushed back. He stated to us the jury panel that he had never before encountered such a strong "woman." That was enough for me to get started thinking in the humor mode. The accused was named Ronald La Mountain, as I recall. When the D.A. was describing, in all seriousness, what had happened, he inadvertently referred to the accused as Ronald McDonald and in the constraints of the County Court House, I had that feeling of starting to laugh, restraining it, and then getting the urge again. I know I held myself together, but at what cost is painful to remember.
Even worse, it must be every broadcaster's worst nightmare to lose control on the air. Crying would be bad; giggling is worse. I recall in detail one day when I was driving my Chevy Convertible from Clifton Park into Mechanicville and Chris Kopostasy as she was known then was reading a news story when she was completely overcome by a fit of the giggles; she just could not control herself, had to cut away several times. To make matters worse, the story she was reading was about someone's death. I remember thinking her career was over before it started but she survived. Maybe no manager types were listening that afternoon, and in those times, few listeners would have reported it.
About a year ago, a young weather reporter, new to whatever channel he worked for, fell victim to a serious giggling fit while he was standing at the map reporting the weather. He stopped, composed himself, but then broke down again. It was so embarrassing I couldn't watch. A year or so later, he's still reporting the weather as well as anyone else could, but every time I see him, I just think he looks silly.
Judge not lest you be judged. (Or something like that.
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