So. Absolutely. Written by Prof. Stephanie Packer

So have you noticed this new usage of "so" abroad in the land?   I call it a faux sequitor, sort of the conversational equivalent of duct tape.

Consider the following, changed only slightly from an actual morning news conversation:

TV Pundit :  "Good morning. You've written a book on the Spanish Civil War."

Author:  "So I argue that Ernest Hemingway was really snitching on his comrades."

Instead of returning the greeting or engaging in small talk, our author goes straight for the big talk.  The money line, the bottom line, I believe it is called in your earth-talk.   "I won't waste your time," the author seems to be faux-modestly saying.  Meanwhile, she is cloaking her pitch in the mantle of bogus inevitability: "X therefore Y:  The rain fell steadily so the grass was soaked." 

But this pundit’s  X does not lead to this author’s Y!

The antecedent "Spanish Civil War" dos not lead to the inevitable conclusion "Ernest Hemingway snitched on his comrades,"  a faux accusation, by the way, which no one, including the hypothetical author, has ever to my knowledge made. 

 But notice the implications. "So" gets high-jacked from its legitimate usage as a logical cause-effect conjunction or an intensifier ("He was so happy!") to something downright sneaky.  No causal chain has been established, yet the speaker establishes unearned credibility by the misappropriation of "So."

Yes, the speaker, for this slippery usage occurs almost exclusively in speech.  Speech makes implications harder to freeze and analyze than does writing.  The conversation moves on.  The faux sequitor has done its low-down work.

Almost exclusively in speech.  The usage in fiction has an old and honorable function, where the author is aiming at the same faux veracity.  "So I'm standing outside the 7-11 drinking my coffee when this babe hauls off and socks me in the jaw."

But that's fiction.  It's legit.  You're entering a world where the only real danger is to not be taken for a ride.  

The speaker, I posit, is taking us on another kind of ride entirely. 

And what follows the faux sequitor of the so-sayers?  Faux graciousness, evidently. 

TV Pundit:  “Thanks for joining us today.”

Author: "Absolutely."

Absolutely???   

"My pleasure," damn it.  "You’re quite welcome.”

Where do these so-isms start?  Where will they end?   I am so not going there.

So that’s another story.

"Golden Wings" by Carmen K. Welsh

When I still took the bus, the #3 was my go-to route, and it's more scenic, especially when it travels to and through Midtown Miami.

Now my car is nearing its fifth year, so this bus ride probably took place in 2006*, when I frequented the Wolfson Campus for workshops, conferences, seminars, as well as the Miami Book Fair International.

There are some chintzy motels one passes before reaching Midtown proper. Some try with Greco-Roman frescoes and fountains bearing rows of Cupid sculptures.

My mind so used to the sheer gaudiness that I'm napping when the bus passes.

Yet, on this day, the #3 picked up a passenger, and I was startled from my ennui. A young woman, shades lighter than I, almost toffee-colored, narrow face, got on, and sat almost directly across, where the seats are parallel to the windows, not perpendicular.

Her hair pulled back in a tight, hasty, short ponytail. She wore jeans, and I can't remember her shoes, but what struck me was her sweater. It was worn through with holes stretched by wear. It was once red but now faded to a reddish orange. When she paid her fare, she pulled this sweater around her as a queen with her scarf. But she was cold, because once she took her seat she drew it tighter around her before deciding to flaunt what she had. There was no shirt or blouse under that worn sweater, only a bra with material appearing to be gold lame'. The design on each cup was a single, outstretched wing.

The brassiere resembled an angel's wing pair that points in opposite directions.

I stared, and not, mind you, out of disgust, pity, or even sympathy, but only in naive' shock. For in my 28-29 years, I was not immune to scantily-dressed individuals, just not really seeing a person publicly flaunt any underwear, much less, so brazenly, or, so proudly.

The young woman noticed my expression, and glared at me. I tried to look away out of courtesy, but my eyes kept going back to that angel wing-design bra.

Long after the bus left that neighborhood of motels, I regretted that I had not paid attention to the exact spot where we picked her up.

When I finally did 'mind my own business', more questions came: What were you running from that you could only throw on a bra, and what made you choose THAT sort of bra?

For the entire time she was onboard, I couldn't stop thinking about the situations a person could be in to hop on a bus in a shredded sweater and a seemingly gold lame' brassiere?

My morbid curiosity thinks back on that particular bus route, and I wonder, where is that young woman now?

Was that bus ride we shared in 2006* her escape? Did she wear that bra because of its symbolism of flight? If so, I hope for her sake.

*I'm not sure of the exact year, but estimate 2006-2008.