Giggle Fits
On crying in the Culver's drive-through lane
My sister, mom, and I all share a predisposition for giggle fits. They’re rare occurrences, but when the right moment strikes, there’s no fighting the part of our DNA that causes giggles to flow freely. I was reminded of this the other day while ordering in the Culver’s drive-through lane. I asked my spouse what he wanted at the last second, and he gave me one too many adjectives about the spicy, crispy, fried chicken sandwich he wanted. To complicate matters, I wanted a grilled chicken sandwich – yet another adjective in front of the word “chicken.” When I went to speak, all that came out was, “Can I have a spicy crip?” which I don’t think my local Culver’s serves.
The seeds of the giggle fit were already planted. Then, I tried to correct myself, which came out something like, “FRIED, crispy – and grilled, please.” At that point, the floodgates were open. The wonderful soul working at the register somehow derived the correct order out of that mess, which was good because at that point I could barely eek out “small coleslaw.” By the time I got to the window to pay, I was struggling to contain my tears, and although I’m sure I’m not the first person to cry in the Culver’s drive-through, I didn’t want them to think I needed medical assistance.
Glitches in The Sims were a favorite source of giggle fits for my sister and me when we were younger. One of my Sims spent half of his adult life with a bowl of macaroni and cheese stuck to his hand. Using the bathroom, making out, waving at a neighbor – it didn’t matter; it was as glued there as the macaroni was to the bowl. I believe he took that macaroni with him to the grave.
To this day, my sister has a particularly strong expression of the giggle-fit gene, and even small amounts of alcohol help express it. I have about a 30% chance of getting a giggle fit anytime I hand her a glass of wine. I like to hand her half a glass of Moscato and purposely put on a funny video saved up just for that moment.
But the best giggle fits happen organically and entirely by accident. A legendary one took place at a close family friend’s wedding. The pastor was wearing long, dark robes that hung just so over their arms. When they raised their arms to gesture dramatically – as they did frequently – it kiiinda looked like their arms weren’t attached to their body and someone was standing behind them doing the arm motions for them. My sister and I were seated on either side of my mom, and as soon as one of us whispered this observation in her ear, it was over. She was a puddle in the pew, a fountain of giggles pouring out of her the more she tried to suppress them. We egged her on by lightly tapping her shoulder, and she’d try to ignore us and stare straight ahead, tears streaming down her cheeks. Every big gesture by the officiant resulted in more strained whimpers as she tried to play it off like she was moved by the wedding.
Having a giggle fit feels like being a freshly shaken can of pop. Your brain cannot overcome the force; it’s simply too powerful. I’m not sure what the evolutionary purpose is, but I’d wager it has something to do with bonding. Recently, we experienced the joy of a full-group giggle fit thanks to a virtual party game called What the Dub? The game shows players a clip from an old movie with the audio removed, and players are asked to write what might have been said. We’ve played similar games before with our friends, but this one invited us to add sound effects to our sentences. Never has a long, loud, unexpected foghorn sound been so funny.
I’ve never been a big fan of satire or slapstick, but finding the absurdity in shared experiences is my kind of humor. Every friendship I’ve ever had has been built on this foundation, and every family story we tell has this as its basis. They aren’t all laugh-out-loud funny, but we keep telling them anyway. Like the time I came up with an unrepeatable definition for the word “Billycock” while playing Balderdash with my family – before I actually knew what the second half of that word meant. And there’s the one about my grandpa’s surprise when my grandma carried in his birthday cake featuring a golfer casually hanging out with Santa (it was supposed to be a golfer and a sand trap).
My Culver’s giggle fit came at the end of a particularly stressful day at work, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Stress is often a precursor to a giggle fit, almost like my body is forcing me to remember that things aren’t that serious. For a few minutes, it stops me from being able to emote anything but laughter. Might as well laugh because there are only so many things I can hope to control anyway. And a giggle fit certainly isn’t one of them.
