Without sounding like a middle school English teacher, which I have substantial (adjective) respect for, especially in the south where words like “far” can be used in a sentence as a blazing inferno, “someone better put out that far, it’s gettin too big or a long distance to travel such as “how far is it to Liquorville?”. I often get tongue tied when I am trying to describe something I have limited knowledge of, like a person, place or thing (noun) or a what is happening, such as sit, sitting, sat, set, setting (verb). It seems to me that the nouns have to be somewhat precise in order to use any of the other stuff, so that’s how I get tongue tied. My once coherent sentences get fragmented and so does my once highly functioning brain.
A great example would be something like when my friend recently posed the deep philosophical question, “hey Randy, did you get your truck out of the shop?” This may seem simple but it is a very deep and a potentially dangerous question for a dude. I try to keep my response minimal because, I would like this conversation to end before it begins… “sure did” is my reply. At this point in the short conversation, I am desperately trying to move things along quickly because I know that like quantum physics, I am in a topic, area, or place (noun) that I don’t belong. Now, despite the fact that I am trying to move out of this dangerous subject matter quickly, my friend doesn’t let me scoot away without further explanation, “well, what was wrong with it?” What I would really like to say, “I have no idea but it works now and that is all that matters Dick, so go…” but I don’t. Here is where I can either twist my tongue into a neat little bow and speak as if I stuck my tongue to a frozen flag pole or…I could turn the tables on my friend and see if he should give up his man-card. I never turn the table, I failed conversation flipping 101 in high school.
Now, because I stood there in front of the shop guy “Bob” that was explaining my bill in such detail that I was forced, for the sake of possibly losing my own man-card, to pretend like I understood every last thing he was saying. I have to be honest and tell you that women in the parts and maintenance department intimidate me a little but today, because there were no women around, I was allowed to just nod and pretend I understood what was being said without the possibility of blushing or sucking in my gut. Women that know more about trucks than me make me blush and I hate when I blush because for me, blushing is the warning shot to my brain that says…don’t speak, just walk away. Once I blush, there is no telling what can come out of my mouth, for example; the first man to ever blush came up with a spiffy response to his blushing by saying.. “awe shucks”. We men in the south, use it regularly and for the most part it works long enough for us to maneuver into a different and more comfortable subject matter.
Now, back at the parts and maintenance department; “Mr. Green we had to replace both your front and back aqua-ducts along with the front left actuator of your right front sub-steering column”, I nod like the bobble head Scooby-Do I used to have on 1975 Datsun pickup dashboard as he continues, “luckily it was the front left actuator and not the back right or we would have had to tear the entire dash board out and send for a new one”, I’m still nodding… “you sure dodged a bullet there Mr. Green.” Bob slides the bill across the counter to me as I frantically scan the bill for any recognizable nouns so that I can avoid getting tongue tied, but I feel the blush on my cheeks and quickly scan the room to see if there are any women or children have snuck in these hallowed halls of mechanical testosterone. Luckily, today, none had. The conversation of faulty auto mechanics, is one that I prefer to keep in the semi-private arena where men come to discuss their profound knowledge of cars, trucks and what not. See, I already let one tongue tied brain fart slip…WHAT NOT. “What not” can be used as noun or verb but it is somewhat confusing when it is used an adjective so you have to be careful with that one. “Say, Bob, as I peruse this bill (it’s important to throw a word out there early in the conversation that Bob may not know, just to throw him off a little) I don’t see that…that…that…” and here it comes, there is nothing I can do to stop it. I have forgotten everything he said about actuators and Aqua-ducts and my brain immediately sends me back to my comfort-zone, “I I I… don’t see that doohickey you were talking about”. Bob now has the Mr. Grinch smile on his face for he knows he has me right where he wants me as he responds with “which one?” My hand that holds the bill noticeably begins to tremble, while my other hand is reaching for my wallet that contains my man-card as I continue to obliterate the English language as Mrs. Tillery taught me, “you know, that thing-a-ma-jiggy that is in front of the thing-a-ma-bob that you said I was lucky I didn’t have to replace and what not. Bob doesn’t even get offended that I have partially used his name to describe a part that I have never heard of or care to hear of ever again. It appears that everyone in the room has now stopped to eaves drop on my conversation about the doohickey in the dashboard of my truck and I swear I can see Bob with his arm raised high in the air and his thumb extended as if he was Julius Caesar, asking the crowd to provide him feedback on whether to release the lions and what not. It is at that moment, that I hear the older man beside me offer up a vocal but clear, “mercy” to the mechanical emperor Bob by saying, “Good god almighty, why do ya’ll have to make things so damn complicated these days”. This wonderful saint of a man has just given me my man card back and I feel my strength returning, my stutter has left me and I shove my man card back in my pocket. “That’s for damn sure”, I say in a very macho authoritarian voice as Bob is now lowering his extended arm and quickly sticking his hitchhiking thumb back into his pocket. If only this saint of an older man with his “cut to bone” wisdom could have been at the counter when I brought the truck in, could I have been spared the indignity of describing what was wrong with my manly truck.
Which is where I move into the arena of adjectives. Sometimes adjectives can be fun and exorbitantly (I never use the word exorbitantly) helpful because you can make many of them up as you go, like; crap ton or butt-load which mean the exact same thing as exorbitant. “How much did it cost to fix your truck Randy”, the quick and most effective answer is… “a butt load or a crap ton Chuck”. You see, when you answer with such well thought out adjectives and educational clarity, the listener can easily place your bill on their own economic scale without the need for much more detail. It’s brilliant actually, and I use this tactic every time I get tongue tied or in a conversation I shouldn’t be.
So, without the help of the saintly man to bail me out at the entrance exam, here is how my conversation at the auto shop went; “What can we help you with today Mr. Green?” retorted by “well, my dadburn heater is broke and its cold as a well diggers ass out there”, a slight pause and I continue as Bob gives me the highly educated, furrowed brow look, “and my brakes are squealin like a stuck pig”. As the listener or recipient of those particular gems of adjective wisdom, you can place meaning in several different ways. I could have easily described my heater as being “broke” or my brakes as being “noisy” and left it at that but I got tongue tied on the entrance exam and I felt the need to be much more descriptive by saying “cold as a well diggers ass” and “squealin like a stuck pig” so that perhaps Bob would more clearly understand the seriousness of the matter, not to mention that it sounds more manly. Now, I have never dug a well, nor have I ever seen a well diggers ass, and frankly if I had, I would never tell you about it and secondly, I would never attempt to ascertain the correct temperature of said well diggers’ ass, but it sounds manly. I have also never seen a pig get stuck, nor have I ever heard the sound said pig makes when it gets stuck but apparently Bob has seen, heard or felt both because he gave me one final scooby-do nod with a thumbs up and said “got it”.