I came across this quote awhile ago and it gave me a chuckle:
I came across this quote awhile ago and it gave me a chuckle:
The older gentleman was fishing in his coat pocket as he approached the customer service desk. Mark greeted him with a cheerful, “How may I help you, sir?”
The customer pulled out a small bag with the store’s logo on it and plopped it on the counter. “My wife got me these for Christmas and I wanna return them. Useless things don’t do nothing for my computer. Nothing at all.”
Curious, Mark upended the bag and two very ordinary flash drives fell out. He picked up each one and examined it for damage. “They appear to be okay…”
The man continued his complaint. “I plugged the one in and nothing happened. I tried the other and still no change. So I plugged both of them in. They made no difference whatsoever.”
“Excuse me? What difference were you expecting them to make?”
The man scowled. “They’re flash drives, right?”
Mark nodded, totally clueless.
“My computer’s old, like me, see? Well, a couple of weeks back we were at my nephew’s place and he was telling us he’d bought himself a new computer and a couple of flash drives. Got them right here in your store.”
“I see,” said Mark, though the picture was still fractured.
“He was showing us his whiz-bang machine and what all he could do. Man, that thing was fast! Click-click-click and he was all over the internet. Weather, maps, whatever, all in a flash. So I says to my wife later, ‘I need to get me a couple of those flash drives to speed up my computer.’ She got me these for Christmas but, like I said, they don’t do nothing.”
“Uh…but flash drives are just storage.”
The man looked bewildered. “I thought they’re supposed to drive something?”
“Listen, sir. Just let me call one of our sales reps and he can explain what a flash drive is and how it works.” He pushed the intercom. “Pete to Customer Service, please.”
At lunch time Pete sat down beside Mark in the staff room and gave Mark a nudge with his elbow. “About that fellow with the flash drive problem… That’s called passing the buck, you know. You could have explained just as well as I.”
Mark grinned. “Can you forgive me? I could see myself being tied up all morning. I noticed he didn’t come back for his refund.”
He gave Mark a thumbs-up. “Sure I can. I sold him a new super-speed system , plus he kept the flash drives.”
Back in the mists of ancient history a Norman army from France crossed the English Channel and battled the Anglo kings at Hastings.
Back then the Brits lacked a BBC and a Winston Churchill to rally the troops with:
“We’ll fight them at sea and we’ll fight them on land; we’ll fight them in the fields and we’ll fight them in the ditches…etc. We will never surrender.” In those days of poor communications one doubts there was any kind of significant country-wide clarion call of “Rally the troops!”
Consequently the Normans took control of England. Lacking a successful counter attack and rout by the inhabitants, they claimed everything, grabbed all the castles, fortresses and whatever other good stuff they spied— as invaders are wont to do. They settled down to enjoy the spoils and make the Anglo-Saxons work for them.
They brought with them many weapons of war — and their language. There began at this point a steady trickle of French into the Saxonized English of the day:
“Non, non, stupide anglaise chef! Quelle offence! Such ignorance. This is NOT a spitted cow. This is a roti de BOEUF. And this is NOT pig. Non, non, this is PORC. We do not have zee PIG to feed us at our table!”
The phlegmatic cook, having sprung from an old English “Farmer in the dell” lineage, hadn’t adopted the Saxon swine yet — which was just as well. She didn’t do so well with roti de boeuf, either, and slurred it to roast beef. She was pleased, though, to be elevated from cook to chef. (Wouldn’t you be?)
Fast forward almost a millennium, to where a Yank calling himself Fandango gives us the word prompt: PENDING.
Thus today we’re prompt-writing about this word, originally forced onto the French by the Roman conquerors of Gaul, then delivered via the sword and the trickle to the Brits. As Norman rule was suspendu over Britain, this word slowly wormed its way into the emerging English language. By now it’s established itself in oodles of English subdivisions — much like Norman DNA in general. And from there it’s crossed the Atlantic.
Definitions given by my Collins Canadian Dictionary, First Edition:
– while waiting for
– not yet decided or settled
something (esp something bad) about to happen
– hang (something) from a high place
– cause something to remain floating or hanging
– cause to stop temporarily
– to remove (someone) temporarily from a job or position, usually as a punishment
– to put trust in; rely on
– to be influenced or determined (by)
– to rely (on) for income
– to spend or use up (something)
Real Life Uses:
Judge Smith was motoring sedately along the highway, expending serious thought on the impending decision over custody of the Watkins’ dog. Considering the vicious ongoing battle for ownership, she’d suspended all visiting rights pending a dog psychologist’s report on the dog’s behaviour in the presence of its master and its mistress.
Little did Judge Smith know that Sam Slatter had expended a lot of energy intoxicating himself on a suspension of fermented barley and hops, and was heading toward a STOP sign to her left.
The county had suspended a flashing red light above the intersection to doubly warn motorists that they MUST, MUST come to a complete stop at the white line. How well Sam perceived this sign and/or light was dependent on how clear his vision was. And it wasn’t. Sad to say, his befuddled brain’s reaction time was as impaired as the rest of him.
The impending arrival of Sam’s vehicle was not noticed by the judge, distracted as her thoughts were. She only caught a glimpse of the oncoming vehicle on her left periphery and the question flashed through her mind, “Will it stop?”
Sam made a brave attempt to brake when the Judge’s vehicle swept in front of him, but the momentum of his vehicle couldn’t be checked. There was a dull crunch as he clipped the tail lights and rear fender of the Judge’s car.
Several days later Sam’s fog had mercilessly left him to his fate. Worse, he could see clearly now that the person whose car he had damaged was sitting in the judgement seat above him. What could he say? What could he do but sniffle as his license was suspended indefinitely, pending a police report on his past behaviour behind the wheel.
The Watkins’ case came up next. Worse luck for them, Judge Smith was in no mood to be patient. The dog was awarded to the husband’s aged uncle and all visiting rights were denied.
I posted this article years ago, but will post it again this morning, as it fits the above prompt words.
As you all know, a writer’s mind is a constantly swirling inkwell. I see, hear, read, experience things – and my mind traps this new info, wanting to turn it into stories or articles. It’s in my genes; I come from a long line of storytellers. After all these years I’m still trying to decide if this swirling process is pearl or peril. Is God sending these inspirations, wishing to speak through me – or is it that “muse” some people speak of that’s made chaos of what could have been my well ordered life? 🙂
I have dear friends whose minds seem to turn in orderly rotations around the fulcrum of “clean and neat.” It’s deep in their genes and I admire the results they achieve in their homes. Many times I’ve decided to give up writing in favour of having a sparkling house like some others. I may spend hours editing, trying to achieve “clean, neat, and in order” in the articles I write but this doesn’t leave me time to give my physical surrounding that same care. ☹
Some women look at the world with their eyes, where I tend to see the world with my mind or imagination. For example, if I walk through my house and see light shining in the windows, I might think about doing an article on light versus darkness; my friends will see that the window needs cleaning and get to it. Or they make a mental note to do it later–and remember.
I make notes, too, but they get lost somewhere. (The fate of many of my literal lists as well.) Then there are times when some really brilliant or audacious idea pops into my head, but I can’t drop what I’m doing. I try to snatch a moment to rush to the computer and type in a title –and maybe a few lines– before I forget it. When I’ve finished what I’m doing, I’ll get back to that file and let the creative juices flow. If I remember.
A few weeks ago I noticed a file in my hard drive entitled “Ads, ads, and termites.” I stared at the screen for a minute. What kind of ads was I thinking of? Kijiji, perhaps? But why the repeat? And how do termites fit with ads? I was mystified and didn’t bother to open the file.
Yesterday I saw it again and the fog started clearing. “Ads, ads” wasn’t advertisements; this stood for adjectives and adverbs. I was thinking about adverbs and adjectives, then read something about termites, and somehow a comparison popped into my head. I’d been reading a missionaries’ letter –they are working in Cameroon– and they wrote something about termites. But what? Sigh…
I opened the file; here’s what I’d typed in:
Adjectives, adverbs, and fried termites. (Fried termites?)
The almost-pure-white butterflies flipped and flopped in lazy circles over the crisply sun-burned lawn, searching for a choice bit of vegetation on which to lay their tiny greenish-yellow eggs.
I know adjectives and adverbs have fallen into disfavour these days. You’re supposed to cut back on them and rather choose strong nouns and verbs. Like “The ivory-coloured butterflies winged figure eights over what once was lawn, searching for some living green on which to lay their eggs.”
But what does that all have to do with fried termites? Whatever the case may be, I fear they will be forever trapped in some crazy mental link-up now! Whenever I hear termites, I’ll think of ads.
Much like the incident my mother-in law told me about. One day while she was still a girl at home her brother Jake asked her a question: “When you see a falling star, do you ever think of onions?”
“Onions! No, never,” she answered.
“You will from now on,” Jake said with a laugh.
Oh, brother! she thought, but she told me his words have proved true: after that day, every time she saw a falling star she was reminded of that dumb joke. And since she told me, I’ve thought of that silly “onions” joke, too, every time I see a falling star.
So be warned. It’s possible that, from now on, every time someone mentions adjectives and adverbs you may find yourself thinking “fried termites.”
Perhaps I’d better find that letter, read it again, find out what my comparison was and tell you, too. Right now the letter is buried somewhere in a pile of correspondence we received, but if I’d clean my house once…
your new pink towel
meets hubby’s white shorts
The Word of the Day prompt today is SHAMBLES
Here’s my response:
O Caveat Emptor!
To the shambles she made her way
to choose their goose for Christmas Day.
The butcher offered “My very best!
This bird will look delicious, dressed.
I’ll set a price you can afford.”
Her shillings in his hand she poured.
At home she learned that goose so plump
had been enhanced with a bicycle pump.