Hey, T.S. Carney here, with a quick lesson on how to talk cryptic and still get your point across. Because if you’re not from New York, you’re probably missing out on some communication magic.
What does it mean to be cryptic? Well, it’s when you say something so indirectly that the other person somehow understands you without needing every detail spelled out. It’s like a secret handshake made of words.
No, I’m not talking about ordering coffee by saying, “The snows are melting in Russia,” and the barista replying, “Only when Dolokhov drinks from the railing in Anatole’s house,” as if that’s code for a wire transfer. That’s just nonsense.
Cryptic is subtler. Like when you say, “Yeah… you know that thing in that place? The place with the thing?” And your friend instantly knows you mean the thing you both agreed to never speak about out loud. They respond, “Yeah, the basil garnish is delightful.” And boom—you’re both on the same page without spelling a thing out.
But here’s the rub. When I moved to Connecticut, that kind of cryptic speech didn’t fly. I’d say, “Yeah… cut my hair short.” Or “Give me that drink! You know, the one.” And I’d get blank stares that looked like I was speaking Klingon.
At my job, chaos is the norm. Kids fighting in the halls, teachers yelling, phones ringing off the hook, deadlines missed, coffee spilled—yet everyone keeps moving like it’s just white noise. New Yorkers live for that kind of chaos; it sharpens the wit and makes cryptic talk necessary for survival. Out here? People want everything spelled out, twice, with a flowchart.
Which brings me to a recent meeting, the weekly gripe session we have. I said, “Yeah, I got a gripe. There’s this person, right? And this person always seems to ignore the thing with the calendar that we all agreed on. Now, I don’t want to name names, but they gotta stop.”
The administrator asked me to explain further.
“Look, I’m the one that always follows the thing with the calendar. Everyone can see Carney has a meeting at this time, and they need to keep their greasy paws off it. But they insist on doing the thing—that goes against the thing we all agreed upon.” I paused, then added, “What’s the point of having a thing if no one follows the thing except me? That makes me look like a schmuck following rules no one else respects.”
The New Yorkers in the room nodded knowingly. The rest? Lost in translation. The administrator looked like I was speaking Latin, Yiddish, or Heptapod B.
I got up and left. I’d made my point, and if they didn’t get it, well, that’s on them.
So yeah. Talking cryptic isn’t just being vague. It’s an art form honed in noisy, messy environments where everyone knows the unspoken rules. It’s how you survive meetings, office politics, and—let’s be honest—the daily grind.
Next lesson: How to stay silent so no one hears about your crimes.
Class dismissed.
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