That hotel clerk responded Whatever to a complaint made by Mr. Crowe, hot head. I read it today in The New Yorker.
In my day, we had just two bits of slang. Cool and beat.
For good and bad. Nothing passive aggressive there. Everything was very obvious. Perhaps we were less angry?
Now, with these x, y and z generations it's all about dismissal.
Whatever, which seemed at first to have the same poetic connotation of Nirvana's big CD title Nevermind, ultimately became the Tourette's cry of many o' emotionally retreating kid and now even adults who would rather not deal with your request/displeasure/disfiguring disease.
Of course, you can't hit someone for saying whatever, and Russell should be thrown in jail, but don't the people who say whatever realize the implied insult of such a dismissing term?
Whatever.
Okay, I get it. Whatever. Fuck it. Whatever. Who cares? Whatever. Whatever.
You say whatever enough times and you just go into a state of detached depression. It's just bad for the culture all the way around.
So let's toss the word, not the phone. Enough.
And any time the throngs want to give up the overused dude, I am so ready. I'm no cowboy. Whatever.
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