COLUMN: Stammering through to Observe the Necessities

Unexplained pauses feel odd, but when your face sours and your hands make desperate hand gestures, things can get a little weird.

I hate it when my stutter gets the better of me.

It’s a recurring nuisance that fails to dwindle with the passing of time. It arises when most inconvenient, leaving me with a pair of sweaty palms and an awkward silence.

Unexplained pauses feel odd, but when your face sours and your hands make desperate gestures, things can get a little weird.

Though it is a subtle attribute – my stutter – the results are anything but mild.

The other day, a barista, with pen poised and ready to scribble on the cup, asked for my name. It was my time to shine. Unfortunately, I’m all too aware of how difficult it is to pronounce my name on the spot, especially with the barista throwing lazy, half-hearted daggers at me.

Nonetheless, the spotlight persevered. Voilà, the grand entrance. Meet my stutter, lazy barista.

Picture this: my mouth opens optimistically, but is left hanging like I’ve somehow managed to zone out.

And what is worse is the pity as the eyes retreat to the side. Thank you, dear barista, for offering me such merciful sympathy. I am awfully grateful to blabber on clumsily as though you haven’t noticed.

Talk about humiliating.

The voice in my head is exceptionally capable in saying – screaming – my name, hollering the three syllables with such desperation that I seriously contemplate the likelihood of telepathy.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m comfortable with people. Even with my stutter looming over my shoulders, I find it within myself to shrug it off.

A chain of unintelligible words isn’t about to discourage me from public interaction – much less ordering a coffee, thank you very much.

Because, as we all must know, talking to strangers can be wonderfully revitalizing: Who could this person possibly be, strolling along the sidewalk? Where do they hope to be in, say, 20 years? Do they think Crocs are the most hideous shoes invented, or are they content in adorable frog-looking feet?

I offer a smile, but, in return, receive a pair of retreating eyes. They swerve to a boring, unimpressive street lamp – and that’s without my stutter.

I wonder why this is, why people have become content with silence and dodging eye-contact. I’m told there is a growing lack of connection. Compared to the good ol’ days of VCRs and quality service (ouch, burn), society has crippled into an introverted shell of communal disinterest.

Still, keep in mind the reasons why your fellow passerby is, well, just that: a passerby. Perhaps it’s due to mildly self-demoralizing struggles – such as a stutter – or a fear of making eye contact, or their mind is occupied with to-do lists and whatever they ate for breakfast.

Or, perhaps, they simply don’t care.

Regardless, it can be uncomfortable opening up to strangers. Many have no problem displaying information on Facebook, yet the idea of personally acknowledging each other seems excessive.

Stutter or no stutter, it makes sense to summon the effort. In fact, if you ask me – or any other delinquent teenager who secretly longs for moments of real-world interaction – a summoned smile or chirped greeting can go a long way.It’s the little things in life that make it so extraordinary, after all – even if that little thing is sputtered into irregular clips of incomprehensible sound

And, hey, moments ago, a pleasant stranger took on the task of opening the door for me and, heaven forbid, presented a smile. An amiable chat unfolded and, as brief as it was, it sparked that little extra something that makes life more enjoyable.

“How has your day been, young lady?”

“Absolutely wonderful. And yours?”

And guess what: I didn’t even stutter.

by emilymfenton

Published in the Peace Arch News May 2014

COLUMN: My English Degree: Spent by the Stigma

I get the feeling people understand my Sauder qualifications as the practical decision that’ll rescue me from my not-so-practical pursuit English Lit and its inevitable repercussions

A few days ago, I registered into my last year of university courses.

Excited to begin my career outside the classroom, I’m also reminded of the responses I’ve received at work, while serving tables.

The customers are usually friendly and curious about their server, so it isn’t unusual when they ask if I’m a student and, if so, what I’m studying.

There’s a pause, as always. My top doesn’t need adjusting but I adjust it anyways. I consider pretending I didn’t hear the question but everyone’s looking at me and I’m looking at them so my options are limited. Here it goes; I disclose my undergraduate degree – English literature.

“Oh, so you’re happy serving tables your whole life?”
Or, a little more forward,

“You can’t do anything with that.”

There it is again, the creeping sense of doubt spurred by others’ wariness. Always a little embarrassed, I add I’m also in Sauder School of Business. I’ll have a Master’s in Management by the time I’m 23.

The narrative shifts. I do believe I hear a church choir singing off to the side. Everyone’s suddenly nodding in approval and saying things like “Ooohhh” and “Aaaahh” and “Wooow”.

“Good for you! That’s a great program!”     

It’s stunning how comfortable people are mocking my degree, with ease, to my face. Never mind I’ve spent years of my life and thousands of dollars pursuing it.

Majoring in English Literature has always made sense to me because I’m interested in writing and publishing other people’s writing. Still, I’m regularly reminded how stigmatized the degree has become. The decision to pursue English is often perceived as an irrational one, in which the student believes the written word can provide them a living until they ultimately realize their reverie isn’t sustainable. Which, in many cases, is true.

And then there’s business. I always get the feeling people understand my involvement with Sauder as the practical decision that will rescue me from my not-so-practical decision to pursue English and its inevitable repercussions – namely, overwhelming student debt and an unclear career path ahead.

But that’s just it. An unclear path isn’t necessarily a negative thing. It’s clear what a student does with a degree in engineering – they become an engineer. It’s not the same for English. But, while not so apparent to the common viewer, English majors actually have a plethora of options — business, communications, publishing, editing, marketing, journalism, law and writing, for example.

In the absence of a degree that limits a student to a handful of job positions, many tend to think the student isn’t hirable. But majoring in English can open more doors than other majors.

For example, the combination of English and Business in my degree caters to my interests in communicating effectively and creatively, while filling leadership roles in media production. The masters will also give me a competitive edge which, in the publishing industry’s rapidly changing landscape, is essential.

Especially supplemented with something else, the notion that I “can’t do anything” with my English degree is a noteworthy one, but not exactly true.

The other day, a customer frowned when I told him what I was studying. I was going to shrug and let it go – I shouldn’t be so preoccupied by what others think of my choices, anyways.

But then he peered up at me with cheerful eyes and said, “Well, isn’t that a neat combination. You’re going to be the best-spoken business person at the table!”

I laughed, taken aback and glad for it.

That’s a way of looking at it, for sure.

by emilymfenton

Published in the Peace Arch News June 2020

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