“Pronoun. Gorgeous Pronoun.”

The interviewers all spat coffee in unison. As they mopped their desk and chins, the last one managed… “I… I’m sorry, but… What?“

The hapless interviewee shifted in his seat again, sighing heavily. “That’s my name, Mr. Pronoun.”

“Mr Gorgeous Pronoun?” The eldest interviewer tried the name on his tongue, attempting to reassure himself. “I see. Yes… yes. Mr Pronoun. That’s fine then.” He nodded this last to the others on the bench, prodding them into line. The others stared at each other in smirks and wide–eyed disbelief.

Pronoun studied the luxuriously rich cream carpet, waiting. Coffee was still dripping onto it from the bench. It smelt like good coffee; shame no one had thought to offer him some.

The third interviewer chimed up. “Ahh. So, why did… I mean, why do... why do you want to be a lexicographer, Gorgeous?”

“Just call me Gorge; everyone does. Or some do.”

Gorge thought for a moment. “A lexy–what–afer? A friend sent me—he said to take the dictionary job.”