Nuptial Vowels

Yesterday morning my neighbor and I were at the gym, walking briskly around the track. Our gym is at the local community center and one of the things we love about it is the rich cross section of people who frequent it: white, black, Asian, Ethiopian, Jewish, Muslim, Christian, fat, thin, young, old; there’s definitely more diversity than Spandex here.

 My neighbor holds a PhD in sociology so she loves to study the melting pot of humanity as she lifts weights and rides the recumbent bike. No PhD for me but being the nosy journalist that I am, I, too, get a kick out of observing and eavesdropping. One of the populations we most enjoy studying is the Tribe of the Male. Their habits are inscrutable to us and we are invisible to them: enticing conditions for spying. We listen as they talk about who has died or divorced in their community, how they feel about the snow removal in our county, how good or bad a job they feel Obama is doing, and how ’bout those Saints!

So back to that track yesterday morning: as we walked in the walk lanes, a young man came running toward us in the jog lane. He was running the wrong way. Each morning a sign with an arrow indicating which way the jogging/walking traffic should go. Ours is a peaceful gym and people comply with the rules, as far as I can tell (though hard to know about the “no spitting in the water fountain” admonition). My neighbor turned to me and said, “Do you think he realizes he’s going in the wrong direction or he’s the type who never follows rules?” Hers was an observation rather than a judgment. She doesn’t sweat the small stuff; she just notices in a cool, clinical way.  Although there were several of us walking or running in the designated direction, Wrong Way guy kept on running in the wrong direction.  Finally, another jogger politely pointed out he was going in the wrong direction. There was what sounded like a good-natured exchange but  Wrong Way guy kept on in the wrong direction. In another lap, Right Way Guy again said something to him. Wrong Way Guy started yelling something about “Bam.” “You don’t need to call me BAM. You don’t need to say that’s BAM.”

My neighbor and I both looked at each other and said simultaneously, “Bam?” 

Wrong Way Guy and Right Way Guy kept yelling at each other and I grew nervous it might come to physical blows. BAM! BAM! But luckily, they chilled and I was left with a linguistic question.

When I got home I went to urbandictionary.com and looked up “bam.”

There were several choices but the main one was a Scottish colloquialism meaning “idiot.” Unconvinced that these two gentlemen were batting about Scottish slang, I looked further and “bam” turned up in  a dictionary of Marine Corps terms and words.     

If I’ve interpreted the data correctly, Right Way Guy was using BAM as an acronym, calling Wrong Way Guy a “Broad-Assed Marine,” (horror of horrors, he was calling him a girl) I suppose a modern day take on the slur Your mother wears Army boots.

Funny, I’ve never seen a woman, Marine or non-Marine, running the wrong way on that track.

–Barbara