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The Heartbreak of Gelotophobia

Don Maurer

    “Taxi!” Eric shouted. Checkered cab came to a screeching halt. He jumped in. “La Guardia Airport. My good man. As fast as you can. Tout suite. Por favor. I’m facile in three languages,” he joked.
    “Are you talking to me?” the cabby asked. Eric was brought up short very quickly with the man’s challenging attitude. “Are you talking to me?” he said distinctly. “I’m not your good man. I’m a cabby. That’s what I do. And you’re putting me down with college trash talk.”
    Totally misreading him Eric continued. “Say again! Go on! That’s really good! No! Your impersonation of De Niro doing that gelatophobe in Taxi Driver is great.”
    “What? This is my regular voice man. Don’t have to apologize for it. Big Apple cabbies hate De Niro. Dissed us big. People are afraid of us. We’re losing fares because of him in a recession no less. Are you comparing me to that creep in the movie? Cuz if you are ...”
    Eric was nonplussed by the cabby’s defensive posture. Had clearly misread his audience. “My bad. Just making light conversation.” Eric was beginning to anticipate a long drive to the airport.
    “What’s a jellophobe anyway?” the cabby surprisingly asked.
    Eric almost risked correcting the driver. Thought better of it under the circumstances. He seized the opportunity to return the conversation to a more congenial level. “Gelatophobia is a condition where people fear laughter. Distrust smiling faces. Can’t distinguish between friendly and hostile laughter. Between teasing and ridicule.”
    “That’s crazy,” the cabby snorted. “Are there people like that out there? Don’t know anyone like that.”
    “Based on an international study by psychologists involving 74 countries Scandinavians ranked among the least gelatophobic prone-groups. All that gloomy Nordic winter weather makes for some very serious people. Not a lot of smiles and laughs in that crowd.”
    “Bad weather sure doesn’t slow down New Yorkers.... Say. I’ll bet you never noticed that psychology starts with the word psycho. Kind of scary huh?”
    Eric thought the present conversation was also. He’d have to row harder for this challenge. “Mid-eastern and African countries scored higher.”
    “With all that bright and dry weather what’s their excuse?”
    Thinking the conversation was moving in a less threatening direction Eric continued. “One may confidently speculate that Genghis Khan, Nero and Caligula did not take criticism lightly. I hesitate to include Idi Amin, Kim Young II and Ahmadinejaid lest it be considered too political.”
    “Is Chaka Khan related to that Genghis guy? Did that dork De Niro get his name from Nero? Kaliligula? What kind of name is that? And that last group of guys. They’re a bunch of loony tune bird brains.”
    “The highest scores in Europe strangely occurred in the United Kingdom. Seems counterintuitive that the land of Swift, Shaw, Wilde and Churchill – all great wordsmiths would produce a nation of gelatophobes. Maybe all that wit intimidated people. What do you think?”
    “Don’t know any of those dudes except Churchill. Short, tubby bald guy with a cigar. Talked a lot. A funny accent almost like an Englishman. Always thought it strange to call it the United Kingdom when the two countries aren’t on the same continent.” Eric was counting the miles to the airport.
    “About 10% of the population has some degree of gelatophobia,” Eric gamely offered.
    “Imagine that. I’ll bet the percentage is a lot higher in the Bronx and Brooklyn.”
    Eric moved to closure on this strange conversation which he’d unwittingly unleashed. “We owe a great deal to the fearless researchers working against considerable opposition, receiving no support from jealous colleagues, indeed derision from many, who’ve shed light on this insidious and heretofore unappreciated medical condition.”
    “Think of that,” the cabby blandly responded.
    “Without their valiant efforts,” Eric persisted trying vainly to make his point in the face of invincible ignorance, “we would’ve never known that people don’t like to be criticized or laughed at.”
    “You’re telling me - that people - got paid to find out - that no one likes to be laughed at or dissed,” he incredulously exclaimed.
    “One should be very careful not to look funny at or criticize these people,” Eric seriously replied. With that the driver stopped the cab. Firmly took Eric by the arm pulling him out on the sidewalk.
    “Hey! What are you doing? What’s wrong with you? I’ve got to get to the airport. What’s your problem?”
    As the cab moved away Eric heard the cabby shout. “It’s your problem now buddy. I’m a tenth person.”

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