Word Origins: Stetorous
By Lila Hartley
9 W Union St, Jacksonville, FL 32202
7 of July 2024
Word-decider people
Oxford University
Address of wherever the dictionary is created (Oxford?)
Dear Oxford Dictionary word-decider people,
I hope this letter finds you well.
When I was younger, I would send you letters to submit words I thought should be added to the dictionary. While it has been at least a decade since I sent my last submission, I came up with a new word, and I figured I should send it. Before I tell you what it is, I must tell you the story of Stet Smith.
Stet visited the gas station every day. He lived about thirty minutes away, but he swore that this one was the best. He stopped here once two and a half years ago and never stopped coming. He said we had the best cashiers and taste in music. I started working here a couple of months after that, at which point the manager, Dennis, had an entire section of training about Stet for new workers.
“This is Stet.” He pulled up a photo of a smiley old man, clearly in the middle of telling one of his many stories to the man organizing the shelves. Y’know how places will have photos and protocols for thieves or people who’ve given the business trouble? It almost felt like that, except we were trying to keep him here—like we were trying to coax an outdoor cat—but Stet didn’t need coaxing, or maybe we were so good at it that he began to believe the decision was of his own free will.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
Of the Union St. Gas Station Employees’ Guidebook, Section V – Customers – Subsection III – Stet Smith
Stet Smith
Overview:
73 years old (Circa 2023)
5’9”
Vietnam veteran
Widower of his beloved wife, Darlene.
One son, John (42); three grandchildren, Alexas (13), Beckham (9), and Mabel (7); John’s wife is Abby (40).
Family lives in Houston, TX.
Comes in every day. Weekdays and Saturday, comes in between 9 and 10 AM. Sunday, comes around 2 PM.
Birthday September 13th
Diabetic, that will not stop him from getting his usual.
Stet usual: Diet Coke on Sundays, coffee Monday–Saturday, pretzels. Every once in a while, a glazed donut.
When Stet is here…
Treat him like a friend.
Greet him as soon as he enters the store.
Let him talk to you. Listen. Ask questions. Nod. Smile. Respond.
If he holds up the line, kindly invite him behind the counter to continue his story. We have a seat there just for him. You must say something along these lines, with a smile, otherwise he’ll get worried he’s bothering you: “I want to hear more! I have this extra seat back here. Why don’t you join me? You can help me stay organized.” If he pushes back about not wanting to bother you or slow you down, say, “You are not bothering me at all! Please, it is lonely back here. It’s nice to have some company.” He would never say it, but he knows that feeling.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
He wasn’t a particularly small man; he had the large belly that all old men seem to develop at some point or another.
We often talked about our families together. I talked about my son, Jake, who Stet always insisted on calling his full name, Jacob. For the past two and a half years, he loved seeing pictures and videos and hearing stories. Jake had been ten months old when I first met Stet. Now, he is three years old, and Stet felt a special kinship to Jacob. They had the same birthday. Stet said he reminded him of when his son was a baby, despite that having been forty years ago. In exchange, he told me about his wife, how she would jokingly ask if he was the next Sarah, carrying their child in old age. He said he would respond with, “I think we might be a little old for that, but we could do it again. You are already an amazing mother.”
He spoke of her like a giddy child having seen his playground crush, except he had gotten to marry her. He talked about how they were from the same small town, how they met in eighth grade, and how—from the start—he’d had a huge crush on her. He saw her on the third day of school during gym. Her golden-brown hair was cut into a bob, curled perfectly. She was playing volleyball in the gym romper all the girls had to dress in.
Stet said he wanted to be a gentleman even as a fourteen-year-old, and so he waited until ninth grade to ask her out. He spent the whole summer in between as a paperboy so that, on the first day of ninth grade, he could bring her flowers wrapped in that day’s paper and chocolates to ask her out. He did just that and she said yes. Doesn’t that just make your heart warm? They went on their first date at the diner down the street from the school. He said he doesn’t remember anything other than laughing and watching her laugh.
“I knew that I wanted to hear that laugh for the rest of my life.”
He always got the same thing: a diet coke or black coffee, and a bag of pretzels, and every once in a while, he’d get himself a day-old glazed donut from the pastry case.
“Shhh.” He raised his pointer finger up to his lips. “Don’t tell my doctor!” he’d chuckle. “Look, I’ve lived this long. If a donut is what kills me, I’ll count myself lucky that was it!”
I always chuckled with him.
Sometimes, I’d say, “I’d happily die with a donut in hand, or maybe a bowl of mac n’ cheese.”
“Mhm! You get it!”
Sometimes, I teased him. “Oh, Stet! If you die, I’ll get real mad!” or, “I imagine your doctor would be more concerned about the decibel levels your stetorous emits!”
“Yeah, yeah.” He’d sarcastically roll his eyes. He could be sassy if he wanted to—a shocking revelation when we found out. Every year, his capacity for sass seemed to elevate until it was no longer a surprise when he let out a witty remark, until it became as common and loud as his stetorous.
About the Author...
Lila Hartley is a Creative Writing sophomore at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts. In her freshman year, Lila fell in love with performing literary works. She participated in several open mics and in Douglas Anderson’s annual show, Extravaganza. She enjoys writing poetry and creative nonfiction. Lila is currently the Vice President of Literary Arts Honors Society at Douglas Anderson. Previously, her poem The Blue and Yellow was published in Élan Literary Magazine’s Middle School Writing Contest the 2022 Spring/Summer season and placed third in the writing category. Her creative nonfiction essay titled “An Open Door” was published in Élan Literary Magazine’s 2024 Fall/Winter edition.
About the Artist...
Isabella Buckhannon is currently a senior at Hamilton High School. Through her artwork, she enjoys embracing the art of reminiscence, reliving the magic that surrounds childhood innocence, and fond memories that can feel difficult to remember. Her favorite medium to use is Tempera paint, as she enjoys the bright, solid color it creates, helping her establish a nostalgic feeling in her pieces. Though Isabella enjoys painting and art, she also spends her time nannying and enjoys watching and playing with the children at her work. She has been holding the paint brush since she could stand to face an easel and finds comfort in illustrating her memories on the canvas.