On Swearing, with apologies to Grampy
The office building where I work has thin walls. This is the downside of an intentional design choice. The walls are designed in such a way that is easier to reconfigure the offices should the need arise: add a wall here, take one down there, whatever is necessary to accommodate the staff. Not a bad choice, but one that nonetheless left us with thin walls.
We are also blessed with a few loud co-workers. They talk loud when being enthusiastic, when on a Zoom call, or simply when chatting in the hallway. Their laughs reverberate through the building. At the best of times, it is amusing; at the worst of times, it’s annoying. I’d feel bad about bringing this up, except I am pretty sure that I’m one of the loud coworkers. Many the time I have cackled loudly when something struck me as funny with no regard for my office neighbors. I’m sure I’ve caused coworkers to roll their eyes, get up, and shut their office door to get some peace and quiet. Apologies to all for my being annoying, but it is one of my greatest skills.
Meanwhile, I am more of a door slammer. When someone in the building is being loud and I’m trying to focus, I get up and push my door shut with just a little more vigor than is strictly necessary. The thinness of the walls ensures that my passive aggressive behavior reverberates all down the hallway in a way that I always hope will encourage people to shut their damn mouths. (It doesn’t work, but I persevere.)
A few weeks ago I was on the phone with one of our district superintendents. For those on the outside of the church for which I work, a district superintendent is kind of like a district manager. They are in charge of a designated territory of the organization, serving in a supervisory role for the clergy in their territory, and in general are comparable to someone in an executive level role in the corporate world. Meaning you probably shouldn’t do what I did on the phone with one of them.
I had been waiting for this particular DS to call me back so we could discuss an important project we were working on together. While waiting I paced in the hallway, eager to connect so that I could move on with the next steps of my work. The phone rang and I answered, stepping back into my office and sitting down at the desk without shutting the door. Mere seconds into our conversation, one of my dear vocal colleagues from down the hall started up with the enthusiasm i.e. got extremely loud and distracting. In mid-sentence I shifted from speaking calmly about the project to exclaiming aggressively into the phone, “Jesus Christ, name redacted, what the fuck? Do you have to be so fucking loud?” All of this while I stomped over and slammed the door; all of this directly into the ear of the district superintendent.
Plopping back down in my desk chair I realized what I had just done and started apologizing profusely for swearing with such sudden aggression. Thankfully this particular DS was very cool about it and was, in fact, laughing pretty hard at having witnessed this unfiltered outburst on my part.
Swearing is instinctual to me. Whether it be part of an outburst of anger or added to conversation to emphasize the point I am making, profanity is part of my vernacular. I’m not exactly proud of it, but hold no particular shame about it either. While I’m relatively civilized in most things, I’ve never claimed to be or tried to act more proper than I actually feel. Certain situations bring out an appropriate level of decorum, but in general I push the boundaries just a little and swear a bit more than is strictly necessary. And to be honest, I don’t really feel bad about it until I think about my grandparents.
I don’t believe I’ve ever heard any of my six grandparents (four biological, two step) swear, with one notable exception, which I will get to. In their grandparent-y way, they always seemed too pure to engage in such behavior. I realize, of course, that this is from the perspective of a child. I know full well that each of these people were, in fact, real human beings who likely had foul words cross their minds, if not their tongues. While I know this, I still can’t help but feel ashamed of my foul mouth when I think of them.
Pop-pop was a large, scary man who dropped out of high school to join the Navy at age seventeen. While I firmly believe he could have intimidated the fur off a black bear, this man was an absolute puppy dog when it came to his grandchildren. Growing up I always suspected that he knew all of the bad words, but I never heard him say anything worse than “damn”. And because of that, I never swore in front of him either. I don’t like to think how he might have reacted to his youngest granddaughter dropping f-bombs; it probably would not have been pretty.
Grams and Grampy are my grandparents on my mom’s side. Grams was an English teacher. She always used to say that swearing was a sign of a poor vocabulary. After she died, Grampy took over reminding us that a broad vocabulary will express whatever you desire without need of foul language. I never heard either one of them swear and would genuinely not know how to react if Grampy started spouting off profanity. He still uses the word “rubbish” and it’s my favorite thing. When I do let loose a particularly virulent tirade I tend to think Grams and Grampy would be so disappointed, and wonder if I should go back to high school and start taking those weekly vocab quizzes again.
Grandpa Lee and Grandma Birdy are my step-grandparents. Due primarily to physical distance I never got to know either of them very well, but during the time I did spend with them they were always polite and kind and never struck me as the type to curse. I can say for sure that I absolutely never would have sworn in front of them out of respect.
The exception to this rule is Elvira, also known as Nana, my grandmother on my dad’s side. She was a bit of an enigma when it came to swearing and propriety. Nana was always well put together, with her shoes matching her pocketbook and always touching up her lipstick. She was proper, but with a little wild side. One time she reprimanded me because I said, “that sucks!“ That earned me a disappointed look and a shocked, “Meggie! Don’t say that!” If the language on TV was getting a little too colorful she would sometimes gasp and say, “oh, boo!” Meanwhile, this was a woman who was famous for a rapid fire “shit! shit! shit!” if something went wrong. When I told her I had started taking German in college the first thing she asked me was, “Do you know what Schiesse means?” (I did. It means shit.) Even when she was in assisted living and losing her ability to speak due to Alzheimer’s, every now and then she would come up with a “shit!”, seemingly out of nowhere. I guess I take after her. Even so I’d still be mortified if she caught me swearing for fear of earning another disappointed look.
These are the six people in front of whom I would not want to be caught swearing. The only times I really feel bad about my foul mouth is when I imagine that they can hear me. Five of them are overhearing from the beyond while Grampy is the reigning grandparent and the only person in my non-professional life for whom I will censor myself. (Except for children, obviously. I won’t swear a vicious tirade in front of children, I’m not a monster.)
I told you all of that so that I could tell you this: I am going to use profanity on this blog. To do otherwise would be disingenuous to myself. I don’t swear gratuitously, only when I deem it necessary. It’s not because I lack more intelligent words to express myself. (See above my proper use of both “disingenuous” and “gratuitously”.) I have the vocabulary to express myself politely, but the point is that I’m not always that polite. Neither are most people. So how can I reasonably be expected to write about myself and real experiences with real people without dipping into the profane? I don’t see how it would be possible, so I’m not going to try.
But I just wanted to state for the record that I do feel a teeny bit bad about it in memory of my grandparents. And to Grampy I offer my love, all due respect, and a sincere apology for the offensive language.
The rest of you can fucking deal.
