Get Me A Kleenex, I Mean ... A Tissue
The Velcro people wrote us the other day, complaining about our use of their brand name in this column in May. (You remember. It was suggested as an alternative to glue for the MX missile. Classic humor stays funny, don't you think?) Velcro, they wrote, is not a suitable generic reference for their product, and they encouraged us to use the memorable term "hook and loop fastener." (Notice how easily it fits into a sentence.)
Well, we passed around a Xerox of their letter (oops, I mean a thermal facsimile) and started wondering what literature would be like without the freedom of the vernacular. We decided it would look like this:
CHAPTER SIX. The flatfoot had been standing in this garbage-strewn doorway for three hours, the smell of unspecified rotting food tinging his nostrils. He was on stakeout, and he hated it. Nothing to do but watch the building across the street and pick at the perforated adhesive medical strip that wrapped around his trigger finger.
He took another drag from his unfiltered, low-tar cigarette, and washed it down with the last drink of caramel-colored carbonated beverage that he had brought along in his vacuum bottle. It tasted warm and flat. He shifted his feet and felt something slimy on the dirty floor. Cripes, he thought, this stuff feels like sugar-based dessert gelatin.
A little girl startled him as she walked by licking an artificially flavored ice treat held together by two tongue depressors. "Beat it, kid," the private-eye murmured from the doorway, noticing her general disheveled appearance as she rounded the corner. "Kid needs a bath," he complained to himself. "I wonder when was the last time her mother cleaned out her ears real good with cotton-tipped cleansing swabs." But he was grateful for the distraction and decided to call it a day.
He had doubts that the evidence he was after would put his nemesis behind bars. The guy's got great lawyers, he thought to himself. No matter what I turn up, it'll just slide off him like an egg on a chemically coated nonstick cooking surface. He walked the two blocks to the subway entrance, stepped on the mechanically synchronized moving stairway, and disappeared into the tunnel.
(You didn't know Escalator was a brand name, did you?)
Could You At Least Let Me Rinse and Spit?
The Michigan Court of Appeals recently ruled that a dental hygienist was not entitled to unemployment benefits after she was fired for preaching to patients.
A born-again Christian, the Grand Rapids hygienist was reportedly taking advantage of her captive audience by droning on and on about religion after her patients had either been sedated or had their mouths filled with the usual assortment of dental paraphernalia.
After more than a dozen warnings from her employer, she was fired, and she appealed on the grounds of restriction of her freedom of speech. In ruling against her, the judge said, "A dentist has the right to expect his dental hygienist, whose work is often painful ... to behave in a manner which does not add more discomfort."
We're still wondering if she took up an offering when she was through.
And Now the News
- When St. Paul (MN) residents started reporting rats popping up in their toilets, city officials were reassuring. Remain calm, they said, close the lid, and flush. I, personally, would flush first, then remain calm.
- The U.S. government has approved a $2.9 million drug-fighting grant under which members of the Texas National Guard will dress up as cactus plants at night to gather data about trafficking along the Mexican border.
- When actor Gary Coleman recently turned 21, he immediately sued his parents for mismanagement of his salary while he was a minor.
And Finally ...
We pause for a moment this month to note the passing of Mel Blanc, for more than 50 years the voice actor who created the diverse sounds and personalities of Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, and countless other cartoon characters who populated some of the funniest, most enjoyable moments of my life.
Ed Spivey Jr. is art director of Sojourners.
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