Yesterday was a day of many pilgrimages for me. If it’s ever taken you eight trips to get your reusable grocery bags from your house into an actual place that takes your money, you know what kind of day of pilgrimages I’m talking about.
It all started innocently enough. Mister Soandso texted me, “Get OJ.” I texted back, “Sure. Anything besides oj?” but because my phone is “smarter” than me, it wanted to send “Sure. Anything besides ok?” like eighteen freaking times. Thankfully, I noticed. But still. A smart phone is supposed to make communication smarter, not harder.
As far as I’m concerned, this is proof that my mobile telecommunication device is in cahoots with the other machines – today it may be a book deal for “Damn You Auto Correct!” but tomorrow, I’m fairly certain the machines will rise against we hapless humans stymied by how to get the toast shards out of the toaster over actually killing ourselves. And yes, I realize that instead of taking the time to teach my phone that yes, I really do mean “hell” and not a contraction about what “he will” be doing, I could have just cleaned up my language. But whatever, shiny device smeared with fingerprints, I already have a mother, thank you very much.
Anyhoo, I obviously needed to get that off my chest. (And it only took about a million helpful spelling suggestions from this writing torture device to type those two paragraphs.)
Let’s see. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I went to the grocery store.
Think of how many stories in your life start with those very same words. I bet for some of you, the rest of the sentence is about meeting the lover of your dreams, or finding a twenty-dollar bill in the parking lot. But for me, it didn’t. Instead, my story continues with “and there was this couple getting into their vehicle next to me.”
Let me set the stage.
It was a Sunday, the sun was briefly peeking through the clouds before the next rainstorm. Next to me was a pick-up sporting several examples of rust. Getting into it was a man and woman dressed in matching sports team apparel and athletic shoes left untied. I didn’t actually get a good look at the couple’s faces because I wisely decided that making eye-contact was perhaps not a good decision. I was, however, paying attention. At least after the first “f@ck!” went flying.
The man was putting something into the cab of the pickup – my peripheral vision gave me the impression of him putting a bottle of pop in the cup holder, but really I have no idea. But what I did see what the woman push against him so she could set a bag of groceries behind the seat. And here’s where things got interesting.
Imagine all the options. She could have grabbed his butt and said something coy about making him meow later as they put away the groceries. Or she could have said, “pardon me kind sir, may I get past you?” Or she could have even said, “hon, excuse me.” But no. Instead, she says, “Get the f@ck out of my way.”
At this point, I thought I was a potential witness to a fight. I check her expression for tears or anger. Instead, all I can say is “bland” or “bored”.
And the dude? He just scooched over and grabbed the other bag while never changing his expression.
What the heck? Obviously this couple graduated from a different Sally Struthers’ School of Communication than I did.
Did I miss a memo? Is this the new way of talking to one another? I mean, I firmly believe in the multi-purpose genius of the F-word, but when you use it in such mundane ways, it kinda loses it’s pep, ya know? Besides, if a body starts tossing the f-bomb around like it’s nothing, we’re going to need to invent a new word to really communicate our feelings. And since we’ve got all these new-fangled electronic devices to keep us busy, when are we ever going to make that happen?
Keep it real folks, and keep the f-bomb the pinnacle of coarse language it once was!