As The Old Girl is still away (back from Christchurch on Saturday) I've been indulging in watching a lot of YouTube nonsense like (see what I did there) Police Stop and other American reality shows where cops arrest idiots who then are interviewed or are recorded on body cam.
It's mind-boggling how illiterate they are which I guess goes hand in hand with their stupidity. The overuse of "literally" and "like" in these 'conversations' serves less as an intensifier and more as a filler making them appear inarticulate and repetitive.
I've literally had it up to here with the word literally. Literally. I am not speaking metaphorically. Although, frankly, I wish I were, because if I were speaking metaphorically, at least I’d be contributing something to the English language.
People no longer say they’re tired. They’re literally dying. They don’t say they’re embarrassed. They’re literally mortified. They don’t say they’ve eaten too much. They’re literally going to explode.
Really? Explode? Because if you were literally going to explode, I’d suggest you stop posting on Social Media and seek immediate assistance from the bomb squad.
And then there’s like. Oh God, like!
Like, why? Like, what happened? Like, who hurt you? Like, why is every sentence now a verbal roundabout with no exit?
“I was, like, walking down the street, and this guy was, like, looking at me, and I was, like, what’s your problem?”
My problem is that you’ve just used like four times to describe a perfectly ordinary encounter with a pedestrian. At this rate, by the time you’ve told me what happened, the guy will have retired, married twice, and died of old age.
The word like has become the linguistic equivalent of bubble wrap. People wrap every thought in it because apparently the naked sentence is too terrifying to contemplate. It’s a verbal comfort blanket for those who can’t bear the risk of saying what they actually mean.
And don’t get me started on the double act.
“I literally, like, died.”
Well, which is it? Did you die, or did you merely experience a mild inconvenience whilst attempting to purchase some day to day item?
Because if you literally died, I’m impressed by your commitment to the conversation. And if you merely like, died, then I assume you’re hovering somewhere between disappointment and a minor spiritual setback.
Meanwhile, the perfectly good words very, extremely, astonishingly, incredibly and utterly are sitting in the corner, unemployed, clutching their CVs, wondering what they did wrong.
“I'm literally so hungry.”
You are hungry. You are not literally hungry. Hunger is not a supernatural condition in which your stomach develops a second mortgage and begins eating the furniture. You need a sandwich, not an exorcism.
“I literally can't even.”
Well, congratulations. You've managed to construct a sentence that is both grammatically incomplete and emotionally exhausting. Shakespeare wrote Hamlet. Dickens wrote A Tale of Two Cities. You've written a linguistic cry for help consisting of three words, one of which is a contraction and another of which isn't even doing its job.
And yet, somehow, we understand one another less and less while talking more and more.
Every emotion is literally insane. Every minor inconvenience is literally traumatising. Every mildly attractive person is literally everything. Every mediocre restaurant serves food that is literally life-changing.
If your lunch has changed your life, I respectfully suggest your life was in need of more substantial intervention than a toasted sandwich.
I long for the days when words had meaning. When literally meant literally. When like was either a verb, a preposition, a conjunction in certain constructions, or a perfectly innocent expression of affection for another human being.
Now they're linguistic weeds, choking the garden of conversation until every sentence looks like it’s been attacked by a thesaurus with a nervous tic.
I propose a radical solution.
From this day forward, anyone caught using literally when they mean figuratively shall be required to stand before a tribunal and explain the difference between a simile and a metaphor.
Anyone who uses like more than three times in a single sentence must surrender their phone and read a book containing actual paragraphs.
Repeat offenders will be sentenced to one week of listening to their own voice recordings, followed by compulsory employment as a proofreader for the Oxford English Dictionary.
And those who say, “I was literally like, literally, so literally shocked,” shall be placed in a small, soundproof room with a dictionary, a glass of water, and a note reading:
“You are allowed to pause. The silence will not kill you.”
Because here is the truly shocking thing: you can speak without filling every gap with verbal confetti. You can express enthusiasm without declaring yourself deceased. You can dislike something without claiming it has destroyed your entire existence.
And you can tell a story without like being the main character.
So please, for the love of language, take a breath. Find a noun. Rescue a verb. Allow an adjective to flourish.
And the next time you feel compelled to say, “I literally died,” ask yourself one simple question:
Am I dead?
If the answer is no, then perhaps what you mean is that you were surprised, amused, embarrassed, delighted, or mildly inconvenienced by something that will be entirely forgotten by Thursday.
In other words, you were having a normal human experience.
Which is, frankly, literally fine.
And, like, that’s the point.