Now that our World Cup guests have gone home, well-filled with Waffle House hash browns and decked out in Bucc-ee’s hoodies, it’s time we get a little honest about some of the peculiarities of our language. Others have pointed out how utterly confusing it must be when foreigners learn that in the US we drive on the parkway and park on the driveway. But there are other language mysteries as well, which puzzle even me, a professional wordsmith.
I understand, for instance, some of our language about our homes. We have beds in our bedrooms, baths in our bathrooms. We dine in our dining rooms. Though we don’t die when we leave them, we live in our living rooms, and spend time with our families in our family rooms.
What though if we haven’t a living room or a family room? What if there’s only one room? We call it a “great” room. A great room? Isn’t that a bit boastful? What if it’s only a good room, or worse, a mediocre room? What if it’s a terrible room? Of course honesty here may not help when you want to sell the house. “Packed with curb appeal, this craftsman style stunner comes with three bedrooms, two baths and one really awful room.” Still, maybe better to under-promise and over-deliver.
Sometimes when it comes to our homes we over reveal; we give information no one was especially worried about. I see signs from real estate brokers, but sometimes I see signs that read, “For Sale By Owner.” Really? I doubt you can buy one at the hardware store that reads, “For Sale by Neighbor With No Ownership Interest.” Or, “For Sale by Squatter.”
It seems like we’re horribly prone, or perhaps I should say mildly prone to overstating things. We don’t just exaggerate, but over exaggerate. Do you have any friends who confess to being lactose intolerant? Call me crazy but these folks, if they really are intolerant, should not even allow the rest of us to enjoy a bowl of ice cream. “Nope, won’t have it. I have no tolerance for lactose, none whatsoever. Call me bigoted if you must, but I will have no lactose in my life.” Truth is, for most folks claiming this affliction, what they mean is that a little bit of dairy upsets their stomach. I think these folks should call themselves “lactose easily annoyed.”
Even our road signs can be wildly dramatic. Where is the gentleness of polite speech? STOP. I get that stopping is important. Bad things can happen when you don’t. But why not, “Safety suggests stopping is your better choice here.” Or please, “STOP, please.” Or for the pedestrians, “DO NOT WALK.” Bossy enough, but even worse is when it changes, WALK. Really? What if I was just chewing the fat with a friend on the corner? What if I’m tired, and been walking all day?
The yield sign pretends to be more soft and gentle. It’s not as commanding as STOP or WALK. That said, I often wonder where the opposite sign is. If I need to be told to yield, should I also have to be told, when appropriate, not to yield? Instead of the inverted triangle telling us to yield when we have the right of way they ought to have signs that are shaped like Darth Vadar’s helmet saying “DOMINATE.”
Stranger still, have you ever found yourself rounding the bend on a mountainous road only to see a sign that reads, “Resume safe speed”? I’ve seen them many times. What has eluded me all my life is the sign that must come somewhere before this one, the one that says, “Drive like a maniac for a while. We’ll let you know when to stop.”
Words matter friends. Hope you’ve enjoyed the ones above.