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Authors: Emily Arsenault
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it.”
“Interesting,” I said, nodding.
“Why do you ask?”
“There’s a fundamental difference between flossers and nonflossers,” I said.
“And what’s that?”
I hesitated before answering.
“Flossers don’t really think they’re ever going to die,” I said, holding the door for her.
“Really?” she said. “Wow. It sounds like I gave the right answer, then.”
I’d have preferred we didn’t end the conversation there, with my morbid dental hygiene theory just hanging in the air. But before I could say more, she gave me a little wave and headed back to her cubicle, where she could think about how creepy I was for the remainder of the morning.
Back at my desk, I pushed all of my cits aside and took out my dictionary.
Blow-dryer
. I considered the word again as I flipped to its page in the book. What was so special about
blow-dryer
?
The definition was just a cross-reference to
hair dryer
. Simple enough. I flipped to
editrix. A
female editor. I pored over these definitions for a few minutes. They really didn’t seem to have any obvious connection. I wondered if the same person who wrote the citations could have also written these specific definitions. It didn’t seem possible, though.
Editrix
seemed like an old-fashioned word. It had probably been around for a while. I looked at the date next to the definition. 1950. Surprising, I thought. I’d have thought it a nineteenth-century sort of thing. And who knows when it had actually entered the dictionary? If the first known use was in 1950, it probably hadn’t been defined and entered in a Samuelson book until at least the mid-1960s. At least.Maybe not until the 1980s. I’d have to look back at old editions of the Samuelson books to know for sure. Maybe someone was just playing around with the random lot of words they had defined themselves. I flipped back to
blow-dryer
and looked at the first usage date.
1950.
“Crikey,” I whispered. Clifford’s chair creaked, registering that he’d heard me.
I slammed my dictionary shut and ran to Mona’s cubicle.
CHAPTER FOUR
Access time. Advantaged. Airglow. Alphanumeric . These were the first words on the list Mona printed out from the digital dictionary. All words first used in 1950. All she had to do was type
1950
into the Date search field, and in a few seconds, we had a list. My favorites on the list were
head-shrinker, LSD
, and
X
(as in the movie rating). As we huddled together in the downstairs editors’ library, I suggested to Mona that we try looking up those words first.
“Be my guest,” she said. “But I plan on going about this in an orderly fashion. I say we split the list into parts and check off words as we go. But if you want to reserve a few particular words for the titillation factor, don’t let me stop you.”
“Yeah, okay. Maybe I’d like ‘corn chip’ too,” I said, looking at the list. “But maybe I’m just being greedy.”
“Whatever.” She gazed at the list, then asked, “What are you doing Friday night?”
“That’s tomorrow night.”
“Yes.”
“What are you proposing? Taco Bell?”
“We get a pizza. And some beer, maybe. And we knock off a few solid piles of cits at my place.”
“You’re gonna bring cits home? Is that allowed?”
“No one’s ever forbidden it, actually. And we’ll put them right back on Monday. I’m always taking big piles of cits from the files to answer letters and stuff. Sometimes they stay at my cubicle for weeks. Nobody cares. Nobody notices.”
“And you’re buying beer? I thought you didn’t like beer.”
“I don’t. I’m bribing you.”
“Well, that sounds good. But what do
you
drink?”
Mona paused. “I don’t need to drink. Someone’s got to hold this operation together.”
“Come on, now. What do you like to drink? Satisfy my curiosity. Wine coolers? Berry-flavored ciders?”
“No,” Mona snapped, looking insulted. “Mixed drinks. Cosmopolitans. Whiskey sours. Rum and Coke. But Coke
“Interesting,” I said, nodding.
“Why do you ask?”
“There’s a fundamental difference between flossers and nonflossers,” I said.
“And what’s that?”
I hesitated before answering.
“Flossers don’t really think they’re ever going to die,” I said, holding the door for her.
“Really?” she said. “Wow. It sounds like I gave the right answer, then.”
I’d have preferred we didn’t end the conversation there, with my morbid dental hygiene theory just hanging in the air. But before I could say more, she gave me a little wave and headed back to her cubicle, where she could think about how creepy I was for the remainder of the morning.
Back at my desk, I pushed all of my cits aside and took out my dictionary.
Blow-dryer
. I considered the word again as I flipped to its page in the book. What was so special about
blow-dryer
?
The definition was just a cross-reference to
hair dryer
. Simple enough. I flipped to
editrix. A
female editor. I pored over these definitions for a few minutes. They really didn’t seem to have any obvious connection. I wondered if the same person who wrote the citations could have also written these specific definitions. It didn’t seem possible, though.
Editrix
seemed like an old-fashioned word. It had probably been around for a while. I looked at the date next to the definition. 1950. Surprising, I thought. I’d have thought it a nineteenth-century sort of thing. And who knows when it had actually entered the dictionary? If the first known use was in 1950, it probably hadn’t been defined and entered in a Samuelson book until at least the mid-1960s. At least.Maybe not until the 1980s. I’d have to look back at old editions of the Samuelson books to know for sure. Maybe someone was just playing around with the random lot of words they had defined themselves. I flipped back to
blow-dryer
and looked at the first usage date.
1950.
“Crikey,” I whispered. Clifford’s chair creaked, registering that he’d heard me.
I slammed my dictionary shut and ran to Mona’s cubicle.
CHAPTER FOUR
Access time. Advantaged. Airglow. Alphanumeric . These were the first words on the list Mona printed out from the digital dictionary. All words first used in 1950. All she had to do was type
1950
into the Date search field, and in a few seconds, we had a list. My favorites on the list were
head-shrinker, LSD
, and
X
(as in the movie rating). As we huddled together in the downstairs editors’ library, I suggested to Mona that we try looking up those words first.
“Be my guest,” she said. “But I plan on going about this in an orderly fashion. I say we split the list into parts and check off words as we go. But if you want to reserve a few particular words for the titillation factor, don’t let me stop you.”
“Yeah, okay. Maybe I’d like ‘corn chip’ too,” I said, looking at the list. “But maybe I’m just being greedy.”
“Whatever.” She gazed at the list, then asked, “What are you doing Friday night?”
“That’s tomorrow night.”
“Yes.”
“What are you proposing? Taco Bell?”
“We get a pizza. And some beer, maybe. And we knock off a few solid piles of cits at my place.”
“You’re gonna bring cits home? Is that allowed?”
“No one’s ever forbidden it, actually. And we’ll put them right back on Monday. I’m always taking big piles of cits from the files to answer letters and stuff. Sometimes they stay at my cubicle for weeks. Nobody cares. Nobody notices.”
“And you’re buying beer? I thought you didn’t like beer.”
“I don’t. I’m bribing you.”
“Well, that sounds good. But what do
you
drink?”
Mona paused. “I don’t need to drink. Someone’s got to hold this operation together.”
“Come on, now. What do you like to drink? Satisfy my curiosity. Wine coolers? Berry-flavored ciders?”
“No,” Mona snapped, looking insulted. “Mixed drinks. Cosmopolitans. Whiskey sours. Rum and Coke. But Coke
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