Humor

"My doctor says that I have a malformed public duty gland and a natural deficiency in moral fiber," he muttered to himself, " and that I am therefore excused from saving Universes."
-Ford Prefect,
"Life, the Universe, and Everything" by Douglas Adams

Sometimes having a sense of humor can be a real liability in my line of work. People don't expect you to crack a joke when you're handing over sensitive government secrets or delivering a death threat. They tend to take it the wrong way. Sure, humor relieves tension, and my job is definitely high-stress. As an A-type personality I certainly need to release pressure regularly if I don't want to die of a heart attack before I get a chance to rule the world. But most of my clients and certainly the public I encounter usually don't seem to appreciate the healing effects of my witticisms. Take my favorite Feds, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully for example.

Mulder and Scully are always so serious. Sure they joke around when they aren't involved in life or death struggles, but when the shit hits the fan they are completely unable to pick up on the irony inherent in almost every confrontation. It gets me in a lot of trouble, the fact that I always see it, and even more that it makes me want to laugh. Usually I just crack a smile, and someone wants to pound my face into the pavement. Quite often that someone is Mulder. Scully usually looks like she'd like to help him, but is just basically too decent. She even stops him sometimes. One time she actually shot him so he wouldn't shoot me. Even I didn't laugh that time. I ran instead as fast as I could. I wanted to laugh, though. It was pretty ironic. I had recently been told it looked like she'd have to be removed soon, and guess who would get the job.

Cosmic irony is so apparent to anyone with a sense of humor who isn't overly invested emotionally in a situation. You'd think that physical danger would make one emotionally involved, but that isn't really so. Sure, my blood pumps with adrenaline, but my heart doesn't really enter into it. I never get emotionally involved with the process when I clean my toilet, either. It's just a job.

Not to Mulder and Scully, though. It amazes me that they can keep pumping away, failing to gather evidence of just about anything extraordinary each and every time, and yet still get so worked up about the search. Those two have no healthy respect for their own lives and wellbeing. It makes me feel sort of fond of them, they are so childlike in their faith.

Well, to be honest, it makes me sort of fond of Mulder. Scully really would probably wise up pretty fast if it weren't for her adoration of him. And fond isn't the word I'd use in reference to that little bundle of sex appeal. She is really the best part of this lifestyle, just getting to watch her apartment on surveillance tapes gets me through otherwise unbearably tense waiting periods. I'm not sure whether I prefer watching her body as she goes through her private rituals or reading her journals. Sexy mind, sexy body. Who could choose? Pretty funny that when Luis Cardinale shot Scully's sister instead of Dana herself I, the ultimate professional, almost laughed with relief. That's one job I hope I never get asked to do again.

Speaking of honesty. Those two have called me a liar more times than I can count, yet I think they really tell more lies than I do. It is fascinating to watch them lie to each other about the most mundane details of their lives. Mulder will sit there watching a porn tape with the sound off while he talks to her on the phone and tell her he is working on a report. She will be lying in her bed in gorgeous sillk pajamas and tell /him/ she is studying her notes. (Yes, surveillance work is great if you have the right object to survey). That's just one example, but that sort of thing goes on all the time. I should know. And it's not just the trivial. They lie to each other about important things all the time. Their feelings, meetings with sources, relationships with other people; and especially their physical conditions.

Myself, I can't afford the luxury of casual deception. When you have to constantly maintain more than one false identity, and one slip up on details can kill you, you need to be very clear on what is real and what is not. Sure, I'll tell lies about anything at all in the right circumstances, but unless it's necessary I will always tell the unvarnished truth. Man does that bug Mulder. I think in some fashion he senses truth when it's spoken to him, and it drives him crazy that I tell it to him more than most people unless I'm trying to manipulate him. Scully it never seems to faze, although I know she is the queen of denial. This whole honesty thing is just one of the many ironic things that unfortunately tend to strike me at precisely the wrong moment. Lips twitch, someone feels the need to punch me.

I think Mulder believes I just get a thrill out of the whole cloak and dagger routine, or that I'm grinning with pleasure at his suffering. That is so silly. Sure, there is something entertaining to me about his constant bellyaching, but only in the fact that it is mostly so self-inflicted. After all the unavoidable suffering both of us have endured, the fact that he would willingly add more to his own pile of pain is just so bizarre it makes me laugh. I've always been amused by the surreal. Sometimes I can just /see/ Mulder in a Monty Python skit, beating himself over the head with a fish or something.

I guess it's not totally true that I'm not emotionally involved when I deal with them. I really do like Mulder. In another reality we'd be friends, maybe watch Sci-Fi channel together on weekends. I'd go on UFO road trips with him. If I could pry her away from Mulder, I know I'd be a hell of a lot more than just a friend to Dana Scully. But unfortunately the aliens really are here. It's not just a movie anymore. And I want to be alive to see them go. Because when they come out in the open, it's all going to stop being funny.