Cleaning up my potty mouth

Yeah, I know.  Not the most auspicious start to my blog, but as I looked over my list of 101 things to accomplish in the next 1001 days, this is the one that really popped out at me as needing immediate attention.

I grew up in a family that did not swear.  We didn't even say "darn" or "gosh".  Those euphemisms were considered to be just as bad as saying the real thing.

And as I grew up I refrained from saying anything remotely naughty. Mom frowned and scolded me if I so much as lowered myself to saying "butt".  Gotta give them credit.  My folks tried to teach me to sound lady-like and mature.

All went well until about 5 years ago.  Sure, sometimes when I got REALLY mad I would descend to saying "crap".  But for the most part I had a clean vocabulary that would make anyone's maiden aunt proud.

Like I said, until about 5 years ago.  That was when I went to work as a 9-1-1 operator and police dispatcher.  Talk about high-stress job.  Getting frantic calls from frantic people desperate for immediate help.  Who, bless them, didn't usually stop to consider their language when talking to me.

So I started hearing more and more "potty talk" in my life.  And you know that what you hear begins to influence what you say.

Add to that the fact that everyone who works in that kind of call center is a super-duper type A personality, and they didn't hesitate to use the most colorful language known to mankind.

Slowly but surely, I began to adopt the language of my surroundings.  First some mild profanity.  Then some crudities.  And finally full-fledged obscenities, laced with plenty of F@$%s.  The sad thing?  I didn't even realize how coarse my vocabulary was becoming in my daily life until my sweetie began to bemoan the fact that his wife was swearing like a longshoreman.  Or worse.

I was never so embarrassed as the evening I was having trouble with a dispatch net.  It seemed that every broadcast  I made I messed up somehow or other.  And after one particularly long flurry of changes I discovered that I had put the wrong officer on the call.  "F@$%" I muttered under my breath.  Five seconds later I received an email from the duty sgt that simply said "I heard that".  "Heard WHAT?" I wondered.  And immediately realized that I had my foot on the pedal, broadcasting over the entire city, my lovely choice of vocabulary. 

Lucky for me the sgt. on duty was kind.  I had to stand a lot of ribbing from the officers, but I wasn't officially reprimanded for my language.  I could have been.  And if he wanted to really make a big deal out of it, I could have been suspended for it.

I realized that I was becoming hardened to the language around me - and coming from me - the night I was answering 9-1-1 calls and had a distraught man on the phone.  Literally every other word out of his mouth was F@$%.  Normally I simply ignored profanity and vulgarity, even when directed at me personally.  But that evening the call was so intense, and the caller was so prolific in his use of the word F@$% that I literally could not understand what he was saying to me.  I tried to get him to relax and calm down, but it was futile.  Finally, in desperation I said "Sir, if you don't stop saying F@$% every other word I will never be able to understand you and get you the help you need." 

Again, I was fortunate, and the caller was shocked into relative calm and we got the help to him that he needed.  But if I had been less fortunate, I could have gotten fired and publicly humiliated for that one.  Every call made to our 9-1-1 call center is recorded and all calls are matters of public record.  Had the caller complained about my word choice, there would have been no getting around what I said.  And I would NOT have like having that call broadcast on the evening news!

I have left that job behind me (there are only so many 5 pm to 3 am shifts I can work in my life, and I believe that I have worked them all) and the stress has dissipated from my life.  But the sad truth is that I still have quite the potty mouth on me.

So when I started putting my list of 101 things to accomplish in 1001 days this was a no-brainer.  I worry that I will slip and give my mom a heart attack with my mouth one of these days.  (thank goodness that I live on the other side of the continent from her)  And I would rather not say things that make me blush to hear coming from my own mouth.

Starting today I am counting the days.  Let's see if I can make it 7 days without saying F@$%.