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Doing power lunches in the 80s

Published 29-Jun-1988 in the Denver Post
Copyright ©1988 by Ed Quillen. All rights reserved.

It was last fall, in the wake of the stock-market crash, that the pundits announced that the '80s were officially over.

But they were wrong, because our language hasn't changed since October. Every decade has its own forms of expression, and we can't change decades until our phrases change.

Only in the 1960s did anyone talk about groovy times with some righteous Owsley that turned into a monster bummer. And you're still stuck in the 1970s if you have a meaningful, sharing relationship with someone who's mellow and vulnerable.

What have the 80s given us?

For one thing, do serves as the verb of all purposes. Nobody eats lunch or has lunch; it's Want to do lunch Monday? When you call someone important, the secretary tells you that He can't come to the phone because he's doing a meeting right now.

Another characteristic of 80s speech is the widespread use of power as a favorable adjective. You can't run your computer unless you're a power user. If you can't do a power lunch, you're a nobody. You're at the top of your profession if you're a power surgeon or power plumber.

Of course, inflation is inevitable here. It isn't enough to be a star anymore -- any performer who gets any billing is invariably touted as a superstar. Superpower is already in use for international matters, so my guess is you'll get a jump on your rivals if you let it be known that you're a megapower manager.

Naturally, you'll have a strategy. Everybody has a strategy, whether it's for international marketing or for finding a parking place. The preferred strategy has been to keep your options open.

In the 80s, people like that always provide quantum leaps or quantum improvements. Just why quantum gets used that way is beyond me, since a quantum is about the smallest unit known to science. A quantum is the amount of energy expended when an electron changes orbits. But perhaps it is the way of the 80s to make minuscule matters sound great.

Even if 80s people are obsessed by money and status, they do not aspire to be known as wealthy. The preferred term is upscale. And if you're on the other end of things, you're not a flunky or a laborer any more; you're a subordinate. A law clerk is now a paralegal, and a bookkeeper is a para-accountant.

Like job titles, personal names got changed during this decade. In the 60s, the preferred way to cope with an identity crisis was to change the spelling, so that we dealt with not Linda and Tom, but Lyndda and Thomm. In the 80s, you want to sound important, not unique. Apparently the most important name anyone knew J. Edgar Hoover.

Thus anyone who aspires to power status uses an initial before the rest of his name, and generally something after it, too, as in R. Emmett Tyrell, Jr., editor of the American Spectator; C. William Verity, Jr., U.S. Secretary of Commerce; or H. Lawrence Garrett, III, general counsel of the U.S. Department of Defense.

Consider some other linguistic gifts of the 80s, such as parenting. It used to be that there were families that raised children. Now there's parenting, whatever that means.

Actually, parenting does mean something. People who parent are people who provide quality time for their children, during the 20 minutes a day they see their offspring.

Note, though, that the concept of quality time applies only in this context. You'd be told to report to the corporate outplacement office if you told your boss that I know I spent only two hours on the job yesterday, but I should be paid for a full day because the time I did put in was quality time.

Normally, I don't worry all that much about these matters. But I was trying to figure out how to fit in, because lately, I've been feeling out of it. The rest of the nation is sweltering in heat and drought, and up here, it's been downright chilly, with thundering downpours every afternoon that often continue into the night.

The problem is that once I go to the trouble of taking up parenting, of promoting myself as a power columnist, of learning how to do lunch, of adopting a significant name like E. Kenneth Quillen, III -- then the 80s will actually be over, and it will be time to adopt a new set of official buzzwords.


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