Something I really dislike is being commanded by a waiter to 'Enjoy!' whatever he or she has brought to the table. It can put me right off my food. When this happens, which it does quite often (or at least it did, prior to the earthquake, when cafes were open in the central city), I think to myself that -- actually -- I'll enjoy what's been served if it's any good, and if it's not, I won't,
whatever you tell me to do. And then I catch myself thinking this stuff (of course I never say it) and feel like a complete tosser and slightly ashamed, as many years ago I realised there are two kinds of people in the world: those who think it's fine to be unpleasant to people in service roles and those who do not.
My linguistic intolerance is not only confined to chafing at commands to enjoy myself; self-indulgent references to "me-time" make me gnash my teeth with impotent fury. A while ago when the people's folk-punk poet Billy Bragg commented in an interview that he really enjoyed walking, as it gave him a chance for
much-needed me-time, I went right off him,
A New England notwithstanding.
However, the small guy, who has recently been learning to write procedures at school, has come up with what I think may be the only acceptable use of "Enjoy!"
Here it is.
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| Procedure for making Crunchy Cockroach Cupcakes, by The Small Guy |
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