August 29, 2010

Steve Pomper


author photo ihis

Throughout the years phrases, affectations, fads come and go, but the strangest ones are, oh what would you call them, key words, that pop up as common affectations. I’ve noticed a new one that’s been around for, I’d say, the past year anyway. It’s the word: Perfect.

I started noticing it, oddly enough, when I found myself using it. It made me self-conscious, so I started listening for it in others. I suppose it’s a sort of societal osmosis that I picked up this odd affectation.

I ordered a cup of coffee at Starbuck’s the other day. “A half-decaf, with-room, americano, please.” The barista smiled and said, “Perfect!”

Wow! I think I overshot a bit; I was simply aiming for getting my order correct, which I almost always do. But not only was I right on with my order, I’d gotten it perfect. I was on top of the world. How many people can boast of getting anything perfect in life?

And then I made a deposit at the bank. The teller said, “Perfect!” My terryaki order? Once again, perfect. I seem to be hitting the mark each and every time I do anything these days.

And then I became melancholy; if I’m so perfect at everything, what do I have to shoot for? If I’m pumping gas, getting coffee, shopping for groceries, and ordering my meals so perfectly, what other than a future of perfection do I have to look forward to? Nothing to improve upon.

And then I got home. Asked my wife if she’d like a latte’. She said, “Yes,” and I said, “Perfect!”

I brought her her cup, having taken particular care in preparing the foam. I asked her what she thought.

She said, without the slightest hesitation, “Not bad.”

Hallelujah! Now I have something to strive for again. Thanks, Babe.


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