Coin Operator

I have this friend, whose acquaintance I have made recently, and she’s a pretty resourceful and clever character, and a little off, but no more than me (ahem). I think that is why we have hit it off so famously. (In my opinion, at least.) Her one blind spot, however, appears to be her love of a certain term that apparently came to her in a vision. Or so her adoration of it would have you believe. It’s actually pretty crazy.

The day had started innocently enough, a few weeks ago, when she stormed into “work” all sorts of breathless, and telling me how she has coined a derogatory term and wanted to know how she could protect it. Like, legally. I think she was serious. Her problem is that she looks serious pretty regularly.

She appeared compelled to tell me her term’s genesis, but her roll-out  took more than twenty minutes and involved a scene setting worthy of Trevor Nunn. (Word to Imogen Stubbs.) In addition, she had her business partner’s viewpoint of the proceedings. It was like a mini-Zapruder film, except far less climactic. Needless to say.

When she finally unveiled the term—of which I have promised to protect, lest I have my face sued off—I was amused. Not hysterically so, but amused. It certainly wasn’t as scathing as “douche nozzle” or “tramp stamp” and I privately thought it to be too erudite to get a real foothold.

It was the kind of term that another friend at The New Yorker would chortle heartily over while he was wax-sealing his letters. But not the kind of term that will make it all the way to middle America.

Yet my friend thinks it will and was wild-eyed when she told me so. And I just haven’t had the heart to tell her. Until now.