Grill fired a new acronym on the menu?
After some hesitation and an unwillingness on my part to admit that I really didn’t know, I offered those two words to Better Half when we were scanning the menu at Hog Heaven, a restaurant in New Philadelphia.
And I said them with authority.
That always helps when you really don’t know what you’re talking about. Speak confidently in your ignorance. Frown and shake your head, too, not for anyone to hear a rattle, mind you, but just so it adds a little authenticity and reassurance for the not-so-readily convinced in your midst.
I liked that I had a handy answer.
It reminded me of grade school days when I took piano lessons, and my older brother always teased me, offering the encouragement that, hey, if you can’t play well, just play loud. Who will know the difference?
Anyway, Better Half noticed the GF acronym next to certain selections on the menu, and since there had to be a grill somewhere in the restaurant and probably a little fire, too, heck I figured how far off base could I be.
Yeh, baby. Change my middle name to Genius.
The fine print at the bottom of the menu, however, proved me wrong.
Oh, the humanity.
Fine print can be such an intrusion on intelligence. And reality, too, especially when it comes to advertisements about the wonders of medicine. A pill that improves one condition, creates four new ailments, and maybe even kills you in the process.
“Oh,” I said, squinting at the menu. “GF is an acronym for gluten free.”
Better Half and I looked at each other and giggled.
Close but no cigar.
Acronyms either prove how lazy we are, that we can’t spell out words so there’s no mistaking what we’re trying to communicate, or they’re evidence that we’re in code mode. Something stands for something else. Keep your decoder ring handy.
I’m not very good at acronyms, other than a few standards — BYOB, UFO and AWOL, not that the three have any connection or anything.
Facebook frightened me with a whole new dictionary of acronyms.
It took me a long time to grasp that LOL was laughing out loud, not lots of luck.
I need that these days.
Except when I’m ordering food at a restaurant.
With confidence I told our waitress with truthful boldness — we’ll have the gluten free grill-fired special, please.
(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.)