Long before I fell victim to the little invisible ions which pervaded my body and turned me into a radio person, I imagined myself as an ace reporter for a big city newspaper, scooping stories and with much charisma crack news-breaking articles and deciding that my talent was too good to be wasted upon my demise – and thus I'd opt to be a cryogen. Frozen and to come back in 2157 with all my faculties.
Being a reporter, well a cadet, was not what it was cracked up to be. My boyhood dreams was to be an ace and rescue such dinkum lovelies like Brenda Starr (frilly lingerie and all) from an evil moonshine- making freebooter or any other evil being who was out to destroy the idol (perhaps idolette) of my callow years.
Not to be.
It would take years of hard grind; including tackling the dreaded shorthand before the chief of staff, fair man that he was, would even let me near a subject for an interview. The Editor was a godlike person who would condescend to come down from his ivory tower office and even a glance and a nod from him would make my day. Even when his lovely PA entered the office, I'd still tremble.
In my lunchtime reverie I would sit in the park outside the newspaper office, munching my standard fare of vegemite and cheese Invariably the noonday sun would have me nodding off and dream some more.
Luckily I had a built-in bodily clock and as the hour ended I would spring into action and hightail it back to work to cut and paste again.
Well, one particular afternoon, the editor, who was younger than I thought , and his PA – every minute of 23 years of age, came into the newsroom to talk to the senior reporters and the Chief of Staff. It was at that time, I was arranging an appointment for a senior journo.
Having said yes to the appointment. I finished the call with: "That'll be fantastic thank you for your time," and hung up.
An hour later, the editor summoned me to his office: "Go with alacrity lad," intoned the COS.
A lovely smile from the PA and I was ushered into the great man's presence.
He graciously acknowledged my presence and then asked me if I would be so kind as to reach the dictionary on the top shelf of his bookcase. Being eager, as ever, to please I did so.
"Now please find me the word, fabulous, and be as good as to read it for me.
I read the dictionary version, which explained that fabulous, was something relating to fable and legend even to absurd and exaggerated.
Next he asked me to find the word, fantastic. I gulped as I read that it was 'extravagantly fanciful, capricious, grotesque or quaint - and not wonderful.
"I know that it is inherent in you young people to often misuse words. I do not want to hear you plead 'it's common usage as an excuse'. We spend lots of money in teaching you to write well. I expect my staff to speak equally as well. Please try not to use those words again unless you really mean them, okay? You can only enhance your career that way.
Oh by the way, congratulations, your cadetship is over and we're grading you as a class D. One step up the ladder eh! Incidentally, the Chief sub sent me the last piece of copy you wrote. Not half bad. But you've overused the semi colons and thus exceeded your allowable ration. You're banned from using semi colons for a year" he said with the hint of a grin."
"That's fab, sir," I answered. The dictionary missed me by an inch.
To this day, I've only used those words in the way they were intended. The 'boss', who has since left us, did not listen to any of my radio shows - then again, Canberra and Bathurst are miles apart
I'm so glad the boss didn't get me to read Antidisestablishmentarianist. I don't have a cotton pickin' idea of what it means.
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