“After the episode, the you-know-what word was added to all sorts of things as a pejorative insult,” Janie continued academically, “as a way to denote a person is authoritarian, autocratic, or inflexible; one who seeks to impose his or her views upon others. Or, in its more literal usage, as you say, a murderer of other humans based on ethnicity and/or religion.”
“See, in that context, it makes sense. Someone who seeks to impose his or her views upon others, just like the you-know-who’s did. But to make it synonymous with fastidious or careful or anything else with a positive connotation is upsetting,” Kat said.
“I also wonder if we, as a society, have lost our sense of humor,” Elizabeth mused. “I mean, I read an interview with Jerry Seinfeld where he said laughing at the horrors of history is an effective way to disarm the power it holds. That he and Chris Rock have stopped performing at college campuses because this current generation has no sense of humor, and require everything to have trigger warnings. Why do we want the word—which Fiona won’t let us say—or any word for that matter, to hold power over us?”
“Or maybe,” Kat suggested, “it should hold power. And we should never forget the fruit of fascism.”
“Fruit of Fascism should be the name of a band.” Elizabeth lifted her chin toward Kat. “And you make an excellent point.”
“This is a tough and complex issue,” Sandra, adopting her psychiatrist voice, cut in. “Humor can heal, yes. Absolutely. But what if you poke fun at a topic that is still fresh, still sore, or that has been made newly sore by recent events? People are what, just supposed to get over it? No. Wrong answer.”
“Maybe it’s a balance,” Ashley said, her eyes on the scarf she was knitting, “Maybe the answer is: Don’t be an asshole, think before you open your trap, take responsibility for your words. Meaning, apologize when you’re wrong and correct yourself moving forward—and don’t constantly look for reasons to be offended and police well-meaning people’s words. We want folks to talk to each other, right? Not just hang out with like-minded people all the time. Everyone is ignorant about something, and everyone is offended by something. If people can’t have a calm, respectful dialogue without being hurt by ignorance, or without offending with insensitivity, then what the hell are we supposed to do? Surround ourselves with robots who don’t challenge our ideas?”
I sat up straight, my gaze darting to the laptop screen at the conclusion of Ashley’s rant. What the hell are we supposed to do? Surround ourselves with robots who don’t challenge our ideas? Yes, that struck a chord.
“Except,” Nico sat slightly forward, causing Elizabeth to shift to the side, “if you’re talking about a group of crazy people who are lobbying for the extermination or expulsion of an entire race, or religion, or other subset of our population. There is no use trying to talk to hatemongers.”
Ashley shook her head. “Now, see, I disagree. How can you change a person’s heart if you don’t talk to them?”
“How about grammar-police? Does that bother anyone?” Janie asked the group.
“Wait, before anyone answers that, is this something we’re doing with everything from now on? Is this a new thing for us? To check with each other before we speak here? To make sure everything that leaves our mouths is free of the potential for hurt?” Sandra’s gaze drifted from person to person. “Or can we instead just, you know, trust each other? We are all friends here, right? We’re all doing our best and want to think the best of each other. If I say something jerky or ignorant—and not the dried-meat kind of jerky—then how about one of you fine ladies just calls me on it. I’ll know you’re coming from a good place and I’ll try to correct my deplor-er-horrible behavior.”
“Why didn’t you say deplorable?” Elizabeth paused her knitting. “You can’t use the word deplorable now?”
She looked to her husband for help.
Nico affixed his eyes to the crochet hat he was making and shook his head. “Nope. I’m not touching that one.”
“Don’t you two talk?” Kat asked teasingly.
“I only see him a few times a month,” Elizabeth dipped her chin to her chest, “so the last thing we want to do is talk about current events.”
“Or talk,” Nico mumbled, earning him an elbow in his rib, which only made him smile wider.
“It has weightier meaning now than it did last year.” Kat fiddled with her sleeve.
“Why?” Elizabeth asked.
Fiona and I swapped looks as I said, “Elizabeth, on the one hand, I do not envy your schedule of working in the emergency room at all hours, sometimes sleeping at work, never having time to watch Game of Thrones or Buffy reruns. But on the other hand, I do envy your blissful ignorance.”
Meanwhile, Sandra sighed, looking beleaguered. “I’m sorry I brought this up. Let’s talk about something else. Like yarn. Yarn always makes me happy, silk never lets me down.”
“You say that now, but remember those silk gloves you knit?” Ashley grinned.
Sandra groaned. “Oh Lord. Don’t remind me.”
“Were those the gloves that grew, like, ten sizes larger after you blocked them?” I hid my smirk behind my cocktail.
“Yes,” Sandra bellowed. “The gloves could have fit the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. That is, of course, if he’d had fingers.”
“Did the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man have fingers?“ Kat wrinkled her nose, glancing to Janie.
“I have no idea,” Janie said, shaking her head.
And then the room fell silent. Because that might have been the first time anyone had ever heard Janie say, I have no idea.
It took us a few moments to recover from the shock and, unsurprisingly, Sandra was the first to speak. “Speaking of not having any idea, did anyone have any idea that Dan split from his girlfriend?”
We all followed Dan’s love life, yet none of us had admitted as much out loud.
“Dan the Security Man?” Elizabeth asked, her gaze swinging to her husband. “Did you know about this?”
Nico gave his wife an evasive grin and an equally evasive answer. “Honey, if I knew about it, why would I keep it from you?”
“When? When did it happen?” Elizabeth squinted at Nico, but was clearly trying to keep the excitement from her voice as her eyes darted to Kat and then away.
I fought the urge to also glance at Kat, successfully subduing the compulsion, but just barely.
Meanwhile, Sandra was pointedly not looking at Kat. “It’s true. They did. Split two months ago. I just found out about it today.”
“How did you find out?” Surprisingly, this question came from Fiona. And I say surprisingly because she never gossiped. Ever.
“Alex mentioned it, offhandedly.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “Like it wasn’t the biggest news since Wookie pajamas.”
“What happened?” Ashley was leaning forward, her face filled the laptop screen, her knitting set aside.
“I don’t know the details—because Alex is a crypt of information—but I do know it happened two months ago and Dan was the one to call it off.” Sandra’s eyes settled on everyone except Kat.