Collective Experience

We have a new guy at work. He has a funny last name. I won’t use it here (since I promised myself that I wouldn’t write about work), but trust me; it’s funny. The other tech writer refers to the new guy by his last name only. I think she enjoys saying it because it is so funny. We can’t really nail down why his name is so amusing, but as close as we can tell, parts of it sound dirty, making the whole name funny in a fourth-grade-sense-of-humor kind of way.

We were at lunch the other day, and Jess was talking about the new guy, referring to him by last name (per usual). It was all very Seinfeld. We dared Jess to go into the office and give the guy a “Helloooo Newman” greeting, but she refused. It started a conversation where we assigned every Seinfeld character to a co-worker. (I’m Elaine because I can’t dance, and I will hit you or touch you inappropriately while we’re talking.)

The conversation made me think that we, we as a world, connect on this very basic level. We share Seinfeld.

Jerry’s jokes are our jokes! We regift, double dip, yada yada yada, and “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” We celebrate Festivus and we know about being the “Master of your Domain.” We know what a bummer “No soup for you” can be. Seinfeld has become our collective experience.

We even create our own Seinfeld moments. Two unrelated friends have unrelated cats named “Cosmo” and “Kramer.” Scott likes to get to the movies early so he can “get good rail” (meaning he wants a seat where he can put his feet up on the railings. Bad rail is getting a seat where the rail looks appealing, but discovering that the rail is too close for comfortable lounging.)

I went to a party last month where the host referred to me as his “Seinfeld friend,” not because I love Seinfeld or because we watch it together, but because he said my stories are Seinfeldian. Later, one of the guests told me that he would drape himself in velvet if it was socially acceptable. It is inescapable. Seinfeld is everywhere.

Serenity now!