It’s like that Talking Heads song you can’t get out of your head now that I mention it
By Mike Leonard
On an ordinary day in our ordinary mall I bought a pair of shoes in the ordinary way and the helpful employee took in my plastic, personal financial information and everything including my shoe size before concluding our transaction with just one word:
“Perfect.”
A visit to the doctor always includes a weigh-in and I’ve given up on arguing that my heavy clothing tips the scales against me.
“Perfect,” the technician said after a glance at the unforgiving weight shaming machine.
At a restaurant the other day I ordered blistered Shishito peppers, dredged in a cognac and goat cheese sauce, then sprinkled with sea salt and pop rocks.
My colleagues at the table gave me a look that said, “Whut?”
Our server never blinked.
“Perfect.”
Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.
We live in a perfect world. It seems like someone tells me that every day.
Don’t know if you noticed, but I thought I’d point that out.
No problem.
No problem, as in the no problem problem that preceded perfect.
In the recent past, if not later today, you might go into a store, ask if they have a certain product and they will go to check. You say “thank you.”
“No problem” the employee says.
It might have been intended to mean something quaint from the olden days, like “My pleasure.” “Happy to help.” Or even that reliable reply to thank you: “You’re welcome.”
But, speaking for millions of consumers without their permission, the mind considers the response and thinks that the request shouldn’t be a problem. You work here. This is what I suspect they pay you to do. You are not doing me a favor. You are performing a task called working. That’s why they call what you do a job.
The verbal laziness of “No problem” apparently became apparent to service providers, or maybe people just came to their senses, because it doesn’t seem to be the default response it once was.
And “perfect?”
It’s still the reflexive response of the day. Meant to affirm something. It’s called “automaticity” in some linguistic circles and most people are guilty of falling into the trap of using a comfortable phrase to communicate something they find themselves saying frequently.
Awesome, I know.
But as I write, I’m already thinking that “perfect” might have already peaked as well, only to be displaced by what the following scenario illustrates.
The television sports sideline reporter gets sound bites out of the player of the night. Or anyone within grabbing distance. Athlete demonstrates manners that their agent taught them if their parents didn’t.
“Preciate it” or “preciate ya,” the sweaty athlete says, before making a beeline to the locker room.
I appreciate the gesture. And the conscious effort to not say “no problem.”
I’m tempted to add y’all or even the superfluous “all y’all.”
Whatever.
No problem.
‘Preciate y’all. All y’all.
