Why I don’t Write like I Talk

Primarily, because I swear too much when I talk. If you don’t like to read such words, then you better click off now and go visit a Disney site or something. You won’t like this.

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Over the years I’ve had a number of friends tell me I should write like I talk. They think it would be a hoot. As I mentioned, I do tend to swear a lot, but I’m also a bit blunt and sarcastic. My own mother calls me brutally honest. Others call me asshole. I think most of the time I’m being funny, you probably laugh at Richard Pryor and George Carlin. Okay, I’m not that funny.

Can’t blame my parents. They took an oath when we were young that they would never swear around us. This went pretty well and I can’t recall ever hearing them swear. Then one day when I was 21, I slept over night at my parents house after visiting old friends in the neighborhood. I woke up to things bouncing off the walls in the basement. Apparently my dad did something to piss off my mom and the constant string of epithets mixed in with the most creative use of swear words I had ever heard in my life was down right impressive.

Even though I had to piss like a race horse, I couldn’t bring myself to get up and walk the 10 feet to the bathroom in fear of becoming a part of what was unfolding. I laid there for another half hour till I couldn’t stand it anymore. She has never held back since then and even her grand daughters, my kids, have left her house laughing and saying, “Oh my god, I can’t believe the things grandma says.”

For me it started with a paper route when I was eleven. Every day we had to go pick up, fold and organize our papers for our route in a converted garage all overseen by a pervert named Wally. I think everyone’s name was shit head to Wally. When I would go camping with the Boy Scouts for a weekend, my older sister would do the paper route. Wally liked this and for the next few days whenever I walked in the door I’d be greeted with, “Hey Grabowski, how’s your sister?” and he would reach down and grab and tug at his crotch.

My first real job was in a warehouse for a company that rented out construction equipment. I was 14 and worked there for almost four years. Within a year I was driving a fork lift truck and lifting generators the size of cars onto racks well over my head and I didn’t even have a drivers license yet. It must be an old guy thing, most of the guys in the shop referred to me as “hey shit head” but they were at least friendly about it and they never got to meet my sister.

My immediate supervisor, whenever he needed me to go do something, would start his request the exact same way every time, “hey Gortowski, you worthless fuck…” Funny how you don’t think twice about it after awhile.

At my next job I was a weekend manager at a gas station, the kind where you actually pumped gas for people. Self service was still unheard of. I had learned well from my previous jobs and it came in hand.

I’m only five foot nine and back then, when I was 19, I had lost 40 pounds and barely weighed 140 pounds. But something changes when you walk out to pump gas for someone and you’re confronted with some drunk shit head leaning against his car and starting to light up a cigarette. I guess I could have walked up to him and politely said, “I’m sorry sir, but I’m going to have to ask that you extinguish that cigarette before I can start pumping gas for you, fire hazard and all you know.”

But it’s much more impressive to go striding quickly across the lot, get up in the guys face and scream, “what the fuck is wrong with you asshole, you trying to get us all fucking killed?” Makes your point without a lot of unnecessary conversation. It always surprised me when guys a half foot taller than me and almost double my weight would start stumbling backwards and mumbling apologies.

It was like magic.

Since then I’ve held a number of office jobs and other jobs that put me in customer service positions, but not gas stations. I actually get praised for my ability to carry on conversations with customers and how I’m always such a pleasant gentleman.

Ha, ha ha ha ha, HA.

What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

I think if you’ve read enough of what I’ve written, you can get a feel for what I’m capable of saying. I also run a forum that nobody goes to. One of the rules you have to read in order to sign up on the site states…

Swearing seems to be a common habit in day-to-day communications. Anyone who knows me through my writing tends to be surprised when they hear me talk. Saying it and typing it are two different things. I don’t seem to have a muffler between my brain and my mouth, but I seem to have a damn good one between my brain and my fingers. Swearing when telling a story makes a point, I do it often myself, swearing at other forum members is not good. If I don’t like the language in your posts, you have one warning to stop. I don’t give second warnings, do it again and you’re gone.

I think it also gives a pretty good idea of how blunt I can be. Now and then I write things down, think twice and just keep it for myself. I’ve thought of not doing that and the hell with it, put it out there, but I can’t decide:

I don’t explode that bad. I’m more verbal than physical. I do remember a conversation at Burger King.

“NONONONO, a MEDIUM shake, they’re color fucking coded for god’s sake. You don’t even have to know how to read. “

Something I considered putting in my brochure back when I was guiding so guys knew what to expect:

“What the hell you throwing in the water? What the fuck is that? No fish is going to eat that piece of shit. You have no clue what the fuck you’re doing, do you. You’re also standing on the goddamn fish. Get the fuck out of the way and let me show you how to do this. Moron.”

Of course it would have all been said in jest and hopefully they could tell.

A place for everything and everything in it’s place I guess. My main concern is screwing up my reputation for conserving and protecting all things rivers. I do well at public meetings and again, I’m usually complimented for my well thought out, well researched comments and respectful demeanor. Deep down what I want to do is raise my hand at a dam removal meeting and say this:

“Just yank the fucking dam already and be done with it. Don’t listen to what these naysaying assholes have to say. They don’t know a damn thing about rivers, conservation or what’s good for a river, so fuck ’em and yank the damn thing.”

I really don’t think that would win me any points.