Stop Me Now
From time to time, everyone develops certain verbal tics that quickly turn into crutches. Sometimes, they come from movies or TV--the next guy I meet who gives me a "Very nice!" like Borat gets a double tap to the brain stem. Sometimes they come from a friend or (if you're not in Los Angeles) a book.
For years, I worked on a job where the executive producer demanded that every story have "an unbelievable." Unbelievable as a noun. As in, "That's great, but what's the unbelievable?" The name of the show itself contained a challenge to believe...or not, and he wanted to live up to it.
Sooner or later the word "unbelievable" began to grate on my nerves, despite the fact that I used it on a constant almost-blinking-rate basis. The phrase from the title was like nails on a chalkboard. When I left after almost three years, both had to be surgically excised from my vocabulary. It was not easy--more like verbal shock aversion, where every time I accidentally said the words it was accompanied by a torrent of self-loathing that was so severe that it often emptied nearby restaurant tables. I've picked up a couple since--the word "Aces" comes to mind over and over again--but only one has risen from the level of "Annoyance" to one of "War Crime."
For whatever reason, and I don't know where it came from, the phrase "shit sandwich" has lodged itself firmly into my vocabulary and won't leave no matter what I do. You know, like if someone has undergone a genuine tragedy in their life, I now come back immediately with the tender:
"Wow...that's a real shit sandwich, pal..."
It's horrible. It's profane and dismissive and it's at the point now where I fear it may replace any real emotion on my part. It's like someone programmed my brain in BASIC:
IF TRAGEDY, THEN "SHIT SANDWICH"
It's not only unhelpful, it's practically the worst thing you can say to someone who is in true pain. You don't have any answers or any response that you know will help. You're stalling for time until you do, but you know you have to say something...but not that! Christ!
It has to stop now. This simply cannot be allowed to continue. So--it's back to shock aversion. If anyone hears me using this phrase in their presence, I owe you a drink.
And you can hit me. Twice. But not in the face.
For years, I worked on a job where the executive producer demanded that every story have "an unbelievable." Unbelievable as a noun. As in, "That's great, but what's the unbelievable?" The name of the show itself contained a challenge to believe...or not, and he wanted to live up to it.
Sooner or later the word "unbelievable" began to grate on my nerves, despite the fact that I used it on a constant almost-blinking-rate basis. The phrase from the title was like nails on a chalkboard. When I left after almost three years, both had to be surgically excised from my vocabulary. It was not easy--more like verbal shock aversion, where every time I accidentally said the words it was accompanied by a torrent of self-loathing that was so severe that it often emptied nearby restaurant tables. I've picked up a couple since--the word "Aces" comes to mind over and over again--but only one has risen from the level of "Annoyance" to one of "War Crime."
For whatever reason, and I don't know where it came from, the phrase "shit sandwich" has lodged itself firmly into my vocabulary and won't leave no matter what I do. You know, like if someone has undergone a genuine tragedy in their life, I now come back immediately with the tender:
"Wow...that's a real shit sandwich, pal..."
It's horrible. It's profane and dismissive and it's at the point now where I fear it may replace any real emotion on my part. It's like someone programmed my brain in BASIC:
IF TRAGEDY, THEN "SHIT SANDWICH"
It's not only unhelpful, it's practically the worst thing you can say to someone who is in true pain. You don't have any answers or any response that you know will help. You're stalling for time until you do, but you know you have to say something...but not that! Christ!
It has to stop now. This simply cannot be allowed to continue. So--it's back to shock aversion. If anyone hears me using this phrase in their presence, I owe you a drink.
And you can hit me. Twice. But not in the face.
posted by Matthew at 2:58 PM
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