Umm…Why Do You Have a Thesaurus?

The other day I picked up my thesaurus, and started reading out of curiosity. I’ve tried reading sections of the dictionary, but the thesaurus was uncharted territory. I figured it’d be a basic line up of synonyms, but I was wrong. I opened the thesaurus to a random page, somewhere in the M’s. Move, moving, mow, moxie, mozo, Mr., Mrs., Mrs. Grundy … Wait what? Mrs. Grundy? What in the world does that mean?

While I don’t know it’s true definition, I now know nine phrases I can substitute when I feel like I’m overusing the phrase Mrs. Grundy: prude, bluenose, comstock, goody-goody, Grundy, nice Nelly, prid, puritan, and wowser.

Wowser? Bluenose? What the hell do those mean?

I kept going through M. Much, muck, muckamuck, mucker, muckworm, mucky, mud, muddle, muddlehead, muddleheadedness, muddlement, mudhole.

Like I said, the thesaurus is out there. It’s not just words and synonyms. It’s vernacular phrases, idioms, and expressions that sound like they were coined by the Three Stooges. (See applehead) It’s fascinating to flip through the pages and discover new terms. I flipped through C and learned it was chicken to be cowhearted, and a coxcomb is the bee’s knees. I went back to M and came across two words that exemplify my views and freedom: mother-country and mother-naked. When I flipped to J, I had a jovial laugh at John Law sitting right next to the john.  Fueled by my wonderment, my wordage was slowly widening.

It was hard to put down. I started to bring it everywhere with me. Any down time I had, I’d spend it thumbing through the thesaurus.

So it was late on a Thursday evening, around 10:30 p.m. I’d just arrived at home from a moderate day of class and work, and was looking forward to an evening of autonomous relaxation. On tap was some reading, some writing, and maybe a little TV. I set up a work station at my front room table: my laptop, a bag of chips, a thesaurus, a highlighter, and my readings for class.

That plan changed when my roommate Joe and our buddy Sully came home and started knocking back cold ones. I continued to read in the front room while Joe and Sully were conversing and plotting their night, jumping in and out of conversations sporadically. Inevitably I was distracted from doing actual productive work and found myself aimlessly flipping through the thesaurus.

They urged me to go out with them to the bar for a few pitchers, but I refused, citing work in the morning and a feeling of tiredness. They pestered me again to go out, to which I half-sarcastically replied, “Nah, I’m just going to stay here and read the thesaurus the rest of the night.”

“Bring it with you,” Joe said.

No that’s a dumb idea. He’s just being a smartass. Or is it a dare? A challenge?

It took me no more than fifteen seconds for me to completely change my mind. I was going to take my 868-page Merrian-Webster’s Collegiate Thesaurus with me to the bar. My recent interest in the ‘saurus and the awkward task of explaining to anyone who asks why exactly I have a thesaurus at a bar at 11:30 on a Thursday night added a little zest to the night out.

The book’s about 9″ x 7″, weighs about 5 lbs. It won’t fit in any pocket so there’s no hiding it. When I left my apartment I knew there was no turning back, it was just me and my thesaurus. While there really was nothing to lose, I soon realized how much there was to gain with my big yellow book.

Five minutes after grabbing a table at the bar, a dark haired woman walks up and asks, “Why do you have a dictionary?”

“Oh, no, it’s a thesaurus,” I casually replied.

“Right, so why do you have a thesaurus?”, she asked.

Should have thought of those reasons before I got a few beers deep. So in my rushed thought process, I quickly spat out several utilitarian purposes for the big yellow book.

“Well, I took the train, and its to ward off any dirty bums that are causing trouble. Self-defense. Some guys carry knives, I keep my trusty Merri-Web ‘saurus with me.”

She looked at me as if I were nuts, and then walked away. She had every right to do so, that was an absurd response.

No more than a minute passed until the next inquirer came up.

“Umm … why do you have a thesaurus with you?” she asked.

“Oh I use it as a booster seat so I can see the stage,” I said.

Again the lady expressed a dumbfounded look, and moved right along.

Then it hit me. Jake, you idiot. You have a dynamite conversation starter. USE IT! When the next one asks about the Thesaurus, just say, “It’s my conversation starter. Hi, I’m Jake.” Yeah, that’ll work.

I was already with my bold response as another girl approached, when I was caught off guard.

“You don’t belong here,” a short blonde girl declared.

I was taken aback. I immediately asked what she had meant by that statement.

“You just don’t look like you should be here,” she explained, “Your beard, you’re handsome, look at that jacket (it was a my pride ‘n joy beige corduroy), and you have a thesaurus. What are you doing here?”

Maybe it was the corduroy?

What was she inferring? Ok, I’ve been told I grow a great beard before, but I was as casually dressed as the rest of the bar, and I’m no better looking than the next schlub, so what was it? The thesaurus? Hmph. Did she take that to mean I am of great intelligence, and in a minor Good Will Hunting moment tell me I was too good to be hanging at a divey bar like this?

Or was she inferring that I walk back to the library and go do some more reading, you big nerd.

Whatever it was, it was the most unique reaction I got all night.

What began as a hollow suggestion had turned into a pick-up spark-plug. I spent most of the night sitting at a table, and in two and a half hours eight girls came up to me and started conversations about the thesaurus. Three looked at me like I was insane, two thought it was funny, two gave me their number, and the one I just mentioned who questioned my very presence. It was effortless.

So it looks like the best wingman I’ve ever had … is a reference book.