English is Not a Language

I came across this the other day, and it made me laugh out loud (LOL, for my young readers; it’s an actual thing IRL.)  “English is confusing because it’s not a language. It’s three languages standing on each other’s shoulders and wearing a trench coat.”

Then it made me think.

When you look for patterns in English, you think you find them, and that’s how they get you. For instance, most of our words pertaining to the military come from French, and they have the ant ending, which in French is the verb conjugation for doing. Thus we have lieutenant (literally, holding the place), assistant, commandant, whom I assume is more important than a mere commander. At least the ship people get the or treatment. (See the paragraph a couple of inches down for details.)  Sailors must have lobbied hard to avoid being called sailers.

You see the same pattern in tenant, pendant, and truant. But, while we have applicants and participants, why don’t we have any anticipants who are eagerly awaiting their turn to be both?

And this is for my Jewish friend who’s never forgotten that I call it like it is. Here’s a word to read out loud: Protestant. With a capital P, it’s a religious sect. But it has functioned as a sneaky way to cover up how we got into the business: by being protest-ants. That’s how I prefer to pronounce it. It makes us seem fierce in a way that banning dancing and working harder than everybody ever could.

I have come to the conclusion that the better, fancier jobs merit the or ending, while the serfs merely get an er. So writers and reporters are below editors, although that system breaks down when the guy with the money is only the publisher. I’m not sure about the process of promoting lowly reporters to correspondents. But by that logic, why are first responders getting the er treatment? Shouldn’t we have a group of heroes we call first respondents?

The arts look like a strong pattern. Musicians (and magicians, for that matter), get the fancy ist designation. (Mentalist, for those of you keeping score.) Pianists, cellists, violinists, and soloists get to wear tuxedos and sit in comfy chairs in the orchestra pit. The plebian trumpeters and drummers have to stand up a lot and wear brown shoes.

We know where the prestige is in the theater right from the get-go. Writers, singers, dancers, costume designers, and stage managers all fall below the fancy and better-paid actors and directors. But here again, the money guy gets no respect. He’s a mere producer.

I’m a foodie, so this issue matters to me. Why are greeters, waiters, servers, bakers, and managers all people (but no hosters), while a cooker is a thing? And, please note that both the person washing the dishes and the machine doing the same task are dishwashers. It’s a travesty. I propose that we promote the people to dishwashors. Maybe they can even aspire (but not be an aspirant, of course, since there’s no such thing) to dishwashist status some day.

And office supplies are just plain confusing. We have staplers, hole punchers, letter openers, and computers, but no tapers. The candles got there first, I guess. And why, in he name of art, did draw-er get moved o the furniture department?

Why are there scientists, but no scientistes? (Looking at you here, artistes and confidantes.) An anthropologiste might have discovered five more species of dinosaurs by now. I can see why professors get tenure, and mere teachers don’t. But in academia, the money people get the respect they deserve; both administrators and donors get the prestigious or treatment.

If you are not a native English speaker, I hope this guide has been helpful. Good luck as you navigate your way through Olde English, Gemanic, Latin, Greek, and French word origins. At least all our nouns are gender-neutral. When I speak French, I usually order deux of everything, so I can avoid embarrassing myself by mis-gendering a sandwich.

Sometime in life, you gotta throw the party you want to go to. And sometimes, as a writer, you get to write the article you want to read.

Feel free to send comments, questions, or vitriol to candace@candacemoody.com.