AnchorMommy

Giggle fits: on-air and off

August 12, 2009 by Shannon

If you asked some of my former co-workers about what it was like to work with me, I would hope they would say I was a team player and a professional who liked to get the job done. 

But I’m pretty sure somebody would mention the giggle fits.

I have a propensity to giggle uncontrollably in the most inappropriate of situations. Which is not a great quality for a news anchor to have, really. 

True story: I once giggled my way through an entire story on terrorist arrests. It was a summer evening, and the studio doors had been open to cool off the room, allowing flies from a nearby horse pasture to come in and give themselves a tour of the studio. That night, one fly in particular was hell-bent on harassing me — buzzing my head, landing on my scripts and hovering between myself and the teleprompter. I tried to ignore it. Then, the fly landed on my shoulder. And it sat there. And sat there. Again, I tried to ignore it. I began reading a story about the apprehension of a dozen or so foreign terror suspects when the fly decided to head down to — ahem — the Cleveland area. Very…..slooowly. I could see the insect’s journey out of the corner of my eye, and that was it. I couldn’t hold it in any more. The belly laughing began, which was quickly followed by gasping, and then tears — the big, wet, make-a-mess-of-TV-makeup tears that won’t stop rolling once they start. But I soldiered through the story, muttering, “I’m sorry, folks…I’m sorry, folks…” between gasping for air and trying to stammer out the tongue-twisting names of a handful of Middle Eastern terror suspects.

And much to my chagrin, I have discovered that my tendency to giggle incoherently has not stopped now that I’m out of local television news. 

I had to place a call to a health insurance agent this week, to tell him we’re ready to move forward with one of three new insurance options. (Ah, the joys of debating the “what-if’s” when choosing health insurance. But that is a whole ‘nother blog post.) I knew he was out to lunch, but had to call to leave a message saying, “Okay, go ahead and file the paperwork we talked about.” This is what happened instead:

Insurance agent’s recorded message: “…I’m in the office daily. Go ahead and leave a message…”  (This message was so super-quiet that I pressed the phone right up to my ear to be able to hear him.)

Conclusion of recorded message:  BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: (extremely startled by previous loud noise) Oh!

Kellan: Mommy! What was that? What was that noise? What was that noise, Mommy?

Me: Huh, huh, huh…hi there, this is…. (silent, snuffling belly laughs)

Kellan: Mommy? Hee hee hee! What was that noise?

Me: (tears rolling down my face) I jussss….I just wanted to call to s-s-s….to say….

Kellan: What was that noise, Mommy?

This is pretty much how the entire phone call proceeded. I struggled to speak through the giggles, and the more I tried, the more I giggled. The more I giggled, the more time passed. I kept thinking, please please please let this message time out so another recorded voice will come on and and say “are you satisfied with this message?” so I can end this giant embarrassment and call back when I can pass actual words from my lips. 

That recorded interruption did not come. So here’s how I finally ended it:

Me: (heh heh heh) So call me at home or on my cell phone if you have any questions…

And then I proceeded to laugh again when I tried to say his name. Which just made me feel like a massive jerk, because I was afraid he would perceive me as laughing at his name. 

Thirty minutes later, I got a phone call from the previously mentioned agent.

Me: I am SO SORRY about that message.

Insurance agent: You know, I think I’m going to just play that message every day when I get in to the office every morning so I can start my day with a laugh. 

Me: Oh. Well. That’s good. 

Insurance agent: I timed it, and what might have normally taken you about 20 seconds to say ended up taking a minute and 50 seconds.

So there you go. Thanks to this kind man, I now know about how long my giggle fits will last before I can regain the ability to speak. It has been documented.