This semester has been a trying time in terms of dealing with other students’ verbal tics. Most notably, I had one HIST class in which a student, who seemed intelligent otherwise, would preface not just every sentence or clause, but nearly every third word, with that Valley Girl standard, “like”.
Earlier in the year, it was simply an amusement, a small distraction that made me laugh to myself while listening to discussion about the violent nature of man, or the definition of pain. But, as the year went on, it became less of a joke, and more of a frustration; nay, it became a serious burden to my ability to focus and participate in that class. By the last few classes, I do believe I was visibly cringing every time this student spoke.
It was like Poe’s Telltale Heart. All I could focus on was that dreadful sound. “Like.” It was as if a rabid animal were gnawing on my brain. It penetrated my skull by means of my ears and infected me with its lethal toxins.
Let me be clear: I do not consider myself a gifted public speaker. And, like most people my age, I make casual use of the word “like” in my everyday vocabulary. I think there are legitimate uses of “like” that may not make for good speech, but at least have a useful purpose in a sentence.
When “like” becomes every third word, it is no longer useful. It is goddamned painful.
And that is why, in my notebook for the aforementioned HIST class, I drew my vision of the death of “like”.
