As is my Saturday morning norm, I woke up and spent the morning reading leisurely in bed while caffeinating. Leisurely might be overselling it, since I do fall quite behind during the week, but I always welcome the opportunity to start my catch up with proChristinating on the actual backlog and starting off with one of Geoff’s latest entries since they are easy on the still sleep-addled brain and also reliably produce a chuckle.

If you clicked that link, you’ll know that today’s post from Geoff – it’s pronounced Ghee Off, presumably because one (or both, who knows?) of his parents was a title holder in his hometown’s Butter Clarifying Championship – really ignited the most used part of my brain: the section that speaks acronym.

Don’t you want to go back and read it now? Like I would steer you wrong. Well, sure…if it was solely for my own amusement, otherwise: never!

Case in point, one of my favorite acronyms regularly puts my co-workers into fits.

E.S.B.

I use it several times a week, sometimes daily.

My appreciation and usage of that acronym comes honestly, from a friend trying to make me feel dumb. Aren’t those just the most cherished memories? Well, I mean, when they fail gloriously. Because there’s nothing so memorable as someone who is not smart trying to make someone else feel dumb.

Geez, this story has to be about 15 years old now, as I was about three ESBs into my happy hour when it occurred and I’ve been off ESBs and exclusively onto IPAs as far as beer goes – for the past decade.

Dumb Ass Friend Talking: You’re always talking about how ESBs are the best beer.

Me: Truth.

DAFT: Do you even know the story behind your beer? Like what the name even means?!?

Me: Sure, it says it right on the label under the big letters, you stupid fuck. Extra Special Bitter, and I 100% am what I drink, so how about you get the next round and try to be a little less of a clown the rest of the night?

Somehow, we’ve lost touch over time. But he was a Shittatle person, so I really don’t care. As if my hostility during the conversation wasn’t evidence enough. In retrospect, I suspect he was trying to tease me about being from Portland – the Seattle/Portland rivalry is real – and riffing on the inaugural Portlandia skit about Portlanders ordering the chicken in a restaurant. This tactic failed for two reasons – three, I just thought of a third:

1) He asked two questions and I only addressed the second. He should have stopped at the one.

B) I hadn’t yet seen the episode he was riffing on. Nor would I until I ended up eating in the restaurant that episode was filmed in and someone brought it up.

3) He was dumb.

Yeah, that was the third thing I thought of. But it’s important! You see, while Portlanders are busy being recognized for being the best at things like food culture, having and retaining an awful NBA franchise, not turning down federal funding for creating a world-class light rail system, and producing world famous bands who fame is not enhanced by its front person’s passing themselves away…Seattle is none of those things and they are compensating their asses off.

That’s not their fault, entirely. Well, not the dwindling Seattle natives, anyway. With such an influx of mostly tech bros from all over the planet comes a lot of insecurity. Because those tech jobs have high pay, which Stupid Americans consider a validation of self. And tech bros need validation. Heck, anyone with a high paying job that is the result of years of focus on a specific subject needs validation because they very likely know very little about other things – like social skills – and no one knows anything about what they do because it takes years of focused study on a single subject in order to know anything about it.

A big salary can make you feel secure, but it doesn’t make you happy.

Yeah…what it isn’t is a recipe for happiness? A big salary and a field of study that isolates you from society’s general pop. All you are is still not happy, but with fewer friends and more money.

That’s Seattle to me in a nut shell.

The obvious Plan B there for my friend was to find happiness through eroding others’ happiness until their misery falls below his own.

And that’s where we were – except, having grown up in Portland, my existence default was set to happy, so this dumbass didn’t stand a chance. Bless his heart.

Ironically, Geoff lives in Seattle and is someone I’d have loved knowing when I was living there – especially because he isn’t one of those Seattle people who embellishes the part of town he lives in – another validation tool Seattle folks love. He doesn’t talk about his “part of town” at all, you see. This sets him apart from the other type who say they live in, say…West Seattle, which is a swanky Seattle suburb. When pressed about where in West Seattle someone lives when it comes up – y’know via enthusiastic statements like “Oh, I love X restaurant! It must be nice to be able to walk there and not deal with parking!” or “Yes! Where there’s actual beach!” – these people crumble and retreat to vague statements like “Well, I live on the South end of West Seattle…”

White Center. You live in White Center, you fuckin’ poseur.

Look what song just came on

This song literally includes the words

No postcode envy…clearly she has encountered these Southwest Seattlites.

Nah, Geoff’s not like that. He lives in Phinney Ridge. He’s never said so, but I’m sure of it. If not, he’s got to be at least Phinney Ridge-adjacent…

But that’s a long way from the acronyms I started off with. Specifically, the consternation my use of E.S.B. produces in my co-workers.

Since most of my regular contacts at work work in HR – don’t let me get started on HR…- declaring I need an E.S.B. at 9:30 AM can raise an eyebrow. And that’s why I respect these HR peeps, they also know the root meaning behind that Extra Special Bitter acronym.

When they suggest maybe I go to a “meeting” instead, I clarify that E.S.B. means Emotional Support Bagel.

At least at 9:30 in the goddamn morning.

Closer to noon, bagel makes way for burrito.

And, sure, burrito is replaced by beer toward the end of the day. I’m not some basic problematic person – my crutches have…depth? Nuances?

So, yeah. That is why it’s 10:30 on Saturday morning and still I’m not caught up on my reading from the past week: acronyms.

Geoff’s post contained several amusing incarnations of the acronym S.C.A.M. and I’m obviously a fan of an acronym having multiple meanings. But the whole thing had this kind of homemade vibe going for it. That reminded me of a workplace memo about Special High Intensity Training that I kept a copy of in my desk drawer for years back when I managed people.

I know, highly inappropriate for the workplace given that acronym.

But I feel like I needed to go find it once I mentioned it in the comments of Geoff’s post. And gourd bless it, the internet did not disappoint!

Since this all happened pre-cell phone and certainly pre-meme, finding it and re-posting it basically qualifies as a public service. Seriously, do you think a Millennial, Gen Y or whatever the current generation is called – is it Zoomers? – know the pleasure that a covertly circulated hard copy of faux memo produced in the workplace? They for sure don’t know what a mimeograph is and some of the documents I found online were clearly from that era of document reproduction.

And I’m a big believer in humor as a sign of both one’s intelligence and overall personality. Plus, we all need some safe inappropriateness in our lives to help in fostering our development as humans. Bonus if it includes self-deprecating humor. Seems like the side effect of Political Correctness was to produce a bunch of people who take themselves too seriously and self-diagnose mental illness to avoid being accountable for being a boor.

So, there you have it. Courtesy of this B.I.G.S.H.I.T…my first post in months.

What? I’ve been busy.

But I like that it’s both a tribute to the good, old days and the things we consider modern conveniences today – while still sticking it to the Stupid Americans who think dumb is a personality trait. If I really wanted to show off, I guess I could put that 40 year old memo through an AI filter and see how far it could take the S.H.I.T. acronym, but I gotta get my day back on track before look up and it’s Monday.