I was living a relatively earworm-free existence today, which is rare for me. It also caused me a little consternation because lately I’ve been doing an Earworm of the Day for my Monday post. Writing something on Sunday night to be posted Monday morning would be swell, but between weekend family stuff (cleaning, laundry, Shazam!), Sunday night hockey games, and general preparation for the coming week, well, that usually just doesn’t happen.
There was a time that I would do my Monday-post writing when I finally got a few moments to myself for some good, meaty ramblings after work and the kids went to bed. But that usually meant skimping on novel-writing time and then publishing the post at 11 pm. Cutting into novel writing time is just not okay now that the end is in sight. And, honestly, I don’t like posting late because at that point, I figure I’m probably the only person still awake to read it. Late night posts really count more as content for the next day.
That makes me feel all guilty, like I skipped a day. I want to be a dependable blogger, obviously. Heck, even the pantless, baby, gin, and coke-addled bloggers like Chuck Wendig manage to post on schedule.
So, I found myself facing a dilemma: on the one hand, not having an earworm equals being blissfully free of nagging, brain irritation. On the other hand, though, it also means no quick Monday post. That just wouldn’t do. I was deathly afraid momentarily that I’d actually have to come up with something creative.
Then, just before the end of the workday, in a classic example of “be careful what you wish for”, one of my coworkers solved my problem in perhaps the most painful method possible. I was discussing a software feature that referenced something called a “zoom box” (trust me, explaining it would be about as exciting as watching an accountant review a 1040). After a few minutes of the conversation, said coworker interjected that we needed to come up with a new name for the feature because “zoom box” was wholly unacceptable.
When we asked why, she replied that it sounded too much like to two things:
- The phrase “Boom Box”
- Something embarrassing she didn’t want to say out loud
Well, obviously that wasn’t going to fly. I don’t know about your place of work, but among my coworkers, a whiff of potential embarrassment is as potent as a drop of blood in shark infested waters. So, obviously, we pressured her to fess up, and finally she shamefully admitted that it reminded her of that horrendous, cringe-inducing song by Hanson.
Yes, this one:
And, that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you thank your lucky stars when you’re earworm-free on a Monday and instead just cobble together a quick limerick, even if it starts with “There once was a Phil in Accounting”. There’s also probably a lesson here about not prying into a coworker’s brain when they tell you they’re embarrassed about something.
I’m so going to try and remember that.
Just like I’m going to be remembering that accursed song for the next 10 days.