Touch screens and apostrophes are a few of my crankiest things
I have another birthday coming up in a couple of weeks and I’m feeling cranky. Old-man cranky. I’m-out-of-chocolate cranky.
I’ve earned the right to be old-man cranky. I was born, after all, not just way back in the 1900s, but the 1950s at that. That means the nose hairs and ear hairs are growing faster and thicker than the thinning strands on my head.
It means a good 50% of my social life is hanging out with people whose first name is “Doctor.”
It means when I stand up, it sounds like the whole percussion section kicked into high gear with all the clicks, clacks, snaps, crackles, pops, whooshes and wheezes.
It means I not only forget why I walked into a room, but I’m not always certain that I’m even in the right house.
So, I’m cranky.
And before you send the message, “Awe, that’s too bad,” DON’T. The misuse of aw, awe and ah, and to, too and two (or even et tu) contributes to my crankiness almost as much as inappropriate apostrophes.
You might want to grab me a handful of buckeyes — the peanut butter-filled chocolate balls — to calm me down before I crank up into a full-blown, old-man, foot-stomping tirade about my lawn and how you should get off of it. Except that now I’ve been pushed into an apartment complex, so it’s not even my lawn anymore. Well, somebody else can mow it then.
What pushed me over the edge was a visit to a fast-food restaurant. I walked up to the counter, visions of burritos dancing in my head, when the teen at the register said, “You need to use the kiosk.”
He pointed behind me to one of those infernal touch screens that have popped up in fine fast food establishments everywhere.
Noticing my snow-white beard and ear hairs, the kid came around the counter and walked me to the kiosk, so that I couldn’t escape. “Do you need help using this?”
Listen, pup, my generation was breaking in these new-fangled computation machines probably before your parents were born. Yes, I know how to use a blasted touch screen. How about you show me that you know how to use an abacus! A slide rule?
It’s just that I don’t want to touch screens. I don’t want to download your apps, either. The automated voice on the drive-through boards at my grazing spots always greet me with, “Would you like to use your mobile app today?”
No, doggone it! I’m here. Right here. Can a human please take my order?
What happened to people? Have we chucked real live flesh and blood out the back door in favor of touch screens, apps and some nonsense called QR codes?
C’mon, I live alone. “Would you like fries with that” might be the only human interaction I get all day. Talk to me.
Maybe you’d rather not, because I’m cranky.
Instead, I get tons of emails and text messages so that we don’t have to actually talk. And invariably, they make me cranky for the above stated misuse of the English language.
Let’s review: “Aw,” is what you say when something’s cute; “awe” is what you use when you are amazed at a wondrous sight, as in you’re in awe of my crankiness; “ah,” is what your medical professional tells you to say when she slaps a tongue depressor in your mouth. And an “awl” is close but definitely no cigar, unless maybe you’re ice fishing.
And I cannot stress this enough: An apostrophe DOES NOT MAKE ANYTHING PLURAL!!
Yeah, that one really makes me cranky.
When I see a mailbox lettered “The Jone’s,” I want to know who is THE Jone, and what’s the rest of the sentence? Jone’s what? The apostrophe denotes possession.
If you mean there are a bunch of people living there, and they all have the last name of Smith, the mailbox should state “The Smiths.” No apostrophe. Because — follow me closely here — an apostrophe DOES NOT MAKE ANYTHING PLURAL!!
It could be the Joneses’ house. Or maybe even the Joneses’s house. The apostrophe there means there’s more than one person named Jones who claims that house. Besides, they’re not home. They’re visiting Sam and Sally Smith. You know, the Smiths. With no apostrophe. The Smiths have a wiener dog, but no apostrophe.
Please, I’m old, hair grows in weird places, my knees sound like a snare drum, and young pups think I’m technologically deficient. Don’t make me crankier. Stop abusing apostrophes.
Or send chocolate.
You can find Burt’s place (yes, singular possessive) at burton.w.cole@gmail.com or the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook. Touch the screen. Someone will be with you shortly.