Wilson must have sensed the despair as he passed my open office door. He stepped inside and took in the sight of me sitting behind my desk, massaging my temples.
“You look awful,” he said.
“Funny, I feel worse,” I said.
He hesitated like he was debating whether it was worth turning this into a full visit. After a few seconds he closed the door and sat down across from me.
“It’s this new language initiative, right?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s a heavy burden to carry, being in charge of hunting down words to eliminate. It’s an odd type of power to have been granted.”
I motioned to the papers scattered across my desk.
“I’ve got all these suggestions from our valued colleagues,” I said. “Suggestions of words and phrases that people find offensive.”
“Where will it end?” Wilson asked.
“And then there are the emails. I have more than three thousand in my inbox.”
“Well, this is what happens when you’re good,” he said. “That little speech you gave went over so well you were put in charge. That will teach you to contribute.”
“The last thing I want, or need is to be in charge of changing the language around here.”
Wilson leaned forward and grabbed a few sheets of paper off my desk. He read them, his face alternating between a scowl and a smile.
“Okay, this is an obvious one from Tina at the widget plant in Delaware. She says she would like to see the use of ‘manpower’ discontinued. She feels it overlooks her and other women’s efforts on a project,” Wilson said.
“Fair enough,” I said. “Couldn’t agree more. But it’s low-hanging fruit. Easy pickings.”
I turned to my computer and pulled up an email.
“For every obvious and well-intentioned co-worker with a suggestion, there is a whack job with a nutty idea.”
“Do tell,” Wilson said.
“This one wants us to create an entirely new department to enforce and update our use of language in the workplace. It apparently will be called, the Office of Language Use, with a director and senior managers all being named.”
“Maybe you can be the first director,” Wilson said.
“No thank you,” I said, scrolling through my inbox. “Here’s another keeper. This guy, someone in legal, has what he thinks is a great idea. Language classes, mandatory, of course. And we create an enforcement arm.”
“Maybe he can patrol the place and issue citations. Maybe a warning at first, then start slapping people with fines,” Wilson said.
“Please don’t joke about that,” I said.
“He’ll probably find some space where he can set up a little work camp or something for repeat, or chronic offenders,” he said.
“You’re frightening me now,” I said.
There was a tap at the door, a tentative, hesitant tap. Like someone didn’t want to be a bother.
“Come on in,” I said.
The door opened a crack, then a little more. A middle aged guy stood there, fear etched on his face. There were beads of sweat across his forehead. He stepped in and closed the door, then looked at me.
“You’re the one in charge of changing the words, right?” he asked.
“Well, no, not really. All I’m doing is-“
“You don’t understand,” he said. “You can’t change my name.”
I glanced at Wilson. He was twitching and nervous, afraid of what was about to transpire.
“Ah, okay, I won’t-“
“No, you have to promise me. Promise me you won’t change my name,” the guy said.
“I don’t even know your name,” I said.
“Manuel,” he said. “Everyone calls me Manny. Yesterday a guy I work with stopped calling me by my name. He said I should get used to it. Said you’re the language police and you’re going to change my name.”
“I have no intention of changing anyone’s name,” I said.
Wilson spoke up. “What does the guy you work with call you now?” he asked.
It was a perfectly fine question and one I probably would have worked my way around to at some point.
“He calls me Mort,” Manny said.
“Mort?” I asked, mainly to make sure I had heard him correctly.
“Yes. We already have a Mike in our unit, but he said he wanted to make sure my new name also started with an M. It was like he was doing me a favor,” Manny said.
“Mort, Mort,” Wilson said, rolling it over like he was trying to get used to it. “It could grow on you.”
Manny started shaking his head and appeared to be on the verge of convulsing. “No, no, I don’t want a new name,” he pleaded.
I looked at Wilson. “Nothing more out of you, please,” I said.
Then I looked back to my visitor. “No one’s going to change your name, okay? So just calm down.”
He nodded and took a breath and pulled himself together.
“Do you like your role here, your job?”
He shrugged and said, “It’s okay.”
“Good, just what I want to hear. Because I have an exciting new opportunity for you.”
“You do?”
“Oh yes, it’s a big role, but you can handle it, I can tell,”
“I can?”
“Absolutely. I know talent when I see it, and I can just tell that you will make a great Director of Language here at corporate,” I said.
Manny looked downright stunned, and honored. He blinked back a few tears and nodded. Then he stepped toward me and reached out a hand. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. “What will I be doing?”
“I have no idea,” I said, getting up and gathering up all the papers on my desk and stuffing them into his arms. “But I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”