|Escalump: (es-ke-lump) n. Person who becomes a human speed bump by suddenly stopping at the top or bottom of Metro escalators.|
|PlanBdextrous: (plan-be-dek-stres) adj. able to plan an alternate route home in case Metro is inaccessible due to unforeseen circumstances.|
A quick google on the campaign talks about it as a "sniglet campaign," which makes me like it even more, since nematome (suggesting "bookworm") is my very own sniglet — combining, and then reversing the order of, nematode (worm) + tome (book).
The google search also reveals three others in the campaign so far:
|Sumpnspicious: (sump-en-spish-es) n. unattended package or odd, unusual behavior that is reported to a bus driver, train operator (via intercom at end of rail car), station manager or Metro Police at 202-962-2121.|
|Conseaterate: (ken-set-er-it) adj. thoughtful toward others who are more in need of a Metrorail or Metrobus seat.|
|Doorker: (dor-ker) n. person who crowds or blocks Metro doors, making it difficult for others to exit or enter promptly.|
Especially encouraging and fun is people wanting to make up their own — a little more "edgy," sniglets — such as these:
|Sophmapic — A term generally describing the consistent need of inexperienced Metrorail riders to check the system map and constantly ask, "Is this our station?"|
|Constairpation — The human traffic jam created by that one Metrorail user, that by inexperience or obliviousness to Metro etiquette, stands on the left side of a given escalator. See also "Tourist."|
|Premature Boardgasm — When a train stops short at a station, only to move forward as users frantically run to catch up with the train's lead car.|
And not to be outdone, Joe made up his own variations of the two we saw:
|Escalump: (es-ke-lump) n. What shows in your pants when you stand next to a hot guy on the escalator to the Metro.|
|PlanBdextrous: (plan-be-dek-stres) adj. An alternate plan to have in place when the hot man has no interest in your lump.|
We walked to a nearby Caribou Coffee to grab breakfast this morning before heading back to Raleigh.
This three-block walk contained one block that might be called not "skid row," but "schizo row." We encountered several homeless people, including one lady that really made us laugh, though we both are acutely aware that there is nothing funny about being homeless or having schizophrenia.
This lady, whose face looked a little bit like the character that Renee Zellweger played in Cold Mountain — like this, but not nearly as pretty, older (in her 50s, I would guess, though might be surprised if she was cleaned up), and dirt smudges on her face.
Well, I had on my "No one cares about your blog" t-shirt, and she was staring at it as we approached her. A frown came to her face, and just as we were passing her, she crinkled her nose and said, "What's a blohg?" her lips forming into a perfect circle when she made the "oh" sound, like one of those porcelain singing angels you see at Christmastime.
I put the "h" in there, because she made that "oh" sound instead of "ah" sound when working out the pronunciation, and she held that "oh" sound for for a second or two.
It didn't dawn on me what she had said until after we passed her, and Joe said, "What did she say?" I said, "She said, 'What's a blooohg?'"
This cracked us both up, not making fun of her for asking, but because of the way she pronounced it and looking so perplexed about, presumably, encountering such a simple word that she didn't know, and because people are constantly making comments about this t-shirt of mine — the homeless, now, being no exception.
Our trip back to Raleigh was uneventful. We were so ready to be home once we neared the Raleigh-Durham area.
I stayed in tonight, starting on my homework for Wednesday's class.