It always starts with a joke that makes everyone laugh, except that one inconspicuous person who barely laughs. Sometimes they barely smirk or give a half-hearted ha-ha. Usually, in a room full of jokesters, no one notices, or if they do, won’t say anything because it takes away the moment’s lightheartedness. Sometimes the jokes are not about sex at all; at times, they are about race and stereotypes, as if the Army is not a micro-melting pot of the US society, as if everyone is white. The jokes go on about skin, foods, and sometimes even the way a group worships. Perhaps it is the jokesters’ way to deal with the unknown; make light of it, and laugh. But what about the ones who don’t find it funny?

The jokesters may say, “everyone laughed” or “no one said anything,” and assume agreement. But what about the ones who held in their protest for fear of being seen as the somber one, in a room full of lighthearted jokesters? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to hear someone’s comical interpretation of body parts, sex, and race when I come to work. I mean, do we work in a comedy club?

For the person who barely smiles and fears to confront the jokesters, the workplace becomes a battleground. Dodging the person, or the instances when the mood drops into a jovial beat and others gather around the cubicle to chuckle and chi-chat. The serious one will watch out day after day, for the person and the instances, and after a while, it will be tough to open the door, sit down in front of the computer and work. But still, like the patches Velcroed on the uniform, the smile goes on the face, not upside down so it won’t be a frown.

Sometimes the jokes get raunchier and raunchier, and the somber one will question, “should I laugh at this one? Since I laughed at the last one?” and with everyone else laughing, another half-hearted ha-ha would erupt, and no one else would notice, and the jokesters will assume once again everyone agrees. Soon even the air will become toxic, and now that all welcomed the jokes, it will progress to more obscene imagery and perhaps even physical play — all of this in the workplace, not a comedy club, that accepted that one sexual joke.

But how can the somber one take it back? The half-hearted laughs had sealed the deal. It is too late to say no. When the jokesters’ hands become uncomfortable, the somber one cannot laugh anymore. But who would believe the somber one when everyone laughs at the jokes?