Hout There

Sitting at the computer, he wrote the word "hout."  His spellcheck seemed untroubled by it.  Usually, he thought, there would be a little red line - oftentimes dashed - underneath the word, indicating it was misspelled.  Sometimes there might be suggestions, depending on the program: "Did you mean hour?  Might you have meant house?"  But although he was certain that there wasn't an English word called "hout," the computer chose not to consider it an error, and indicate it as such.

A quick search online found that it was a word in Dutch.  It meant "wood."  It was also a word in Finnish, a plural version of the word "hoku," which meant "rhyme."  Hout, in Finnish, therefore, meant "rhymes."

In neither case did he look up pronunciation.  He continued to say the word, in his head (for at no point since the mistake did he say the word out loud), as though it rhymed with "bout" or "scout."

One last thing: the word meant "today" in a language called Vilamovian.  Vilamovian!  Now there was a word that his spellcheck did. not. like.  It seemed to him that the dotted red line under the name of this obscure language pulsed like an angry vein in someone's neck!  It seemed to him that his spellcheck hated this word.

As usually happened in cases like this, he willingly found himself going down the rabbit hole of curiosity, even if he knew - and he knew - that any information he found would not be of any use to him afterwards.  So he discovered this:

Wymysorys, also known as Vilamovian or Wilamowicean, is a West Germanic micro-language actively used in the small town of Wilamowice, Poland (Wymysoü in Wymysorys), on the border between Silesia and Lesser Poland, near Bielsko-Biała. It is considered an endangered language. At present, there are probably between 70 and 100 native users of Wymysorys, virtually all bilingual; the majority are elderly.

Micro-language!  Endangered language!  West Germanic language spoken in Poland!  For a few minutes, it occurred to him that he could learn this language and be one of the one hundred people who knew it.  That would be exciting!

Then he noticed that his spellcheck didn't like the word Wymysorys, either.  So he said (again, in his head, not out loud), "Aw screw it.  I don't want to learn a language my spellcheck doesn't recognize."

He did like the way Wymysorys looked, however.  He thought the word might cool good on a shirt.  A conversation started.  He'd get to say to whomever asked, "It's an endangered language!"

All of this brought him back around to why he wrote the word "hout" in the first place.  He thought about it, and he realized he wanted to write "hot out there."  As he got older, as his typing skills got sloppier, he often found he'd inadvertently combine words or add letters intended for one word to the end of the word preceding it.  Since he was just writing an email, and not anything of consequence, it didn't really matter much, but it did waste a tiny bit of time every time he stopped to correct it.  He was glad he read over his emails before he sent them.

Because there was nothing he hated more than wasting time.