The Gizmo

Face it, there are times of mental overload, times when our powers of recollection are clogged up like traffic on Atlanta’s downtown connector. Names fail us. It’s time for the advent of The Gizmo.

**********

Words keep multiplying. Have you noticed? At last count, the English language has 1,025,109.8 words. I think ‘gizmo’ is still the 8/10ths decimal one. But it’s tenacious.

‘Gizmo,’ the half-baked baby, hangs in there, even though it hasn’t fully matured into a whole word. It needs a big shove to get across the threshold from being a decimal to a whole number.

Maybe you’ve had one of those times recently. You’re at a party. You stand there with your spouse. Across the room a person you last saw in college approaches. You sense the tension building, the inevitable terror of knowing you will have to make an introduction. But you can’t recall his name.

The distance narrows, he comes closer, smiling like you are his best friend. Hell, you actually were. You’ve known him since high school. But what’s his name? You pretend not to see him. Futile. He’s getting closer now.

Age has altered him, you think. He looks old. His wrinkles have a pained look, suggesting they’re embarrassed to be living on his face. Your alphabet runs wild, cycling endlessly in your brain, unable to aggregate itself into a cohesive syllable. What’s his name?

You search for excuses. You stand there like a blithering idiot, stammering and stuttering some incoherent gibberish, buying time, hoping the answer will materialize. You run through the alphabet, Arnold, Bob, Charlie, David, down to Zero. Nothing. Memory mocks you.

Your spouse adds fuel to the flame, asking, “Who’s this?”

The only thing that comes out of your mouth is the ultimate fallback, “Oh, Mr. Whoziewhat?” You know already how it goes from there. You bolt for the roast beef buffet.

I know these things. Today I was that idiot.

I walk into my office bathroom, shut the door, flip on the light switch. Nothing. The horror of great darkness consumes the space.

Dark bathrooms are terrifying; things can go sideways on you if you’re not careful. It’s a place where even slight mistakes become catastrophic consequences. Light is essential. I grope for the door and escape.

I find ‘whatshisnoodle,’ my landlord, a jovial fellow as long as there are no problems. He smiles a lot when he receives the rent check. I tell him about the light bulb. He doesn’t smile. The conversation goes something like this:

“Hey, I have a problem. Light in the bathroom is burned out.”

“Have you considered other options?” He points to the grass outside. Did I mention he also lacks refinement? I ignore his crude gesture.

“Listen, do you have one of those long, yellow poles, you know, the kind that can telescope out about ten feet, reach the ceiling? It has a long string hanging from a clear plastic cup on the end, you know, and you lick the cup and a light bulb will stick to it and you can twirl it and out pops the light bulb? Not sure what it’s called. I’m dull today.”

“You’re dull every day. What you’re referring to is called a ‘gizmo.’ Better be careful calling it a pole, you know, all those jokes about the Poles changing light bulbs. Not politically correct now. Just saying.”

“A gizmo?” I ask. “Nonsense. Who made that up? It defines nothing.”

“Well, Mr. Linguist, that’s what everybody calls it. It’s more descriptive than a whatchamacallit.” Pandora’s Box of placeholder words opens. Out spills strange expressions that say everything and nothing, all at the same time.

Later I’m at Ace Hardware, looking for a particular type of screw. I describe it to the clerk: “Stainless steel, round on the end, screws into a tree to run a cable through to lower my bird feeder. I can see it in my mind but I can’t think of what it’s called.”

“We don’t read minds here, sir. But the “doohickey” you describe is on Aisle 14. It’s called an eye bolt.” Ace clerks are helpful but condescending.

**********

Memory lapse is a curse with no cure. We’re hung with it. These strange words we use are placeholders for forgotten somethings. Imagine the chaos without them.

You’ll soon be Christmas shopping. ‘Thingamajig’ will go a long way when you need it. Use it early and often.


Bud Hearn
December 4, 2015