I have decided to coin a new word: OED, here I come. My word is "oyzumping". But what does it mean?
To be "oyzumped" is as follows. A familiar scene: you are approaching a ticket barrier at a London Underground station in a large, rapidly-moving crush of people, so that you move through immediately following your predeccessor, who, unbeknownst to you and perhaps even to him, has a defective oyster card. His attempt to "touch out, in order to avoid paying the maximum cash fare" (in the words of the invariably Indian announcers who so enliven and enrich our commuting days with this strangely Vedic mantra) is of course unsuccessful, and provokes only the dreaded electric angst of the Seek Assistance message, which always seems to me to be more of a nihilistic statement on the parlous condition of co-operation in modern human society rather than a specific injunction (And shouldn't we all seek a little more assistance from time to time, people?)
But I digress.
His little face contorting with dismay, our man in front steps back from the resolutely steadfast barriers, but JUST AT THE SAME MOMENT your own oyster card is irreversibly descending towards the reader. You try to pull back, possibly to tear it from the machine with a cry of NOOOOO and perform a perfect duck-and-roll into the ticket machine, but it's too late. Our man in front veritably squeals with delight as, inexplicably, the barriers foreclosing his future progress are abruptly flung asunder! Marveling at this minor technological miracle, he quickly darts through, like an eager salmon returning to the fabled breeding ponds of his youth. In his wake, the barriers snap back with a scornful retort, entombing you within their claustrophobic embrace and divorcing you, perhaps forever, from the sunlit uplands of the ticket hall beyond. You, my sorry friend, have been OYZUMPED!
The worst part of it is that the clever computer system decrees that you have now left the station. You are dead to the Oyster. You are, in truth, an Anoychronism, out-of-place within the universe of Ken's all-seeing plastic eye. Any further attempt to scan your card leads only to further exhortations to "Seek Assistance! Seek Assistance!" as the machine grapples >>
To be "oyzumped" is as follows. A familiar scene: you are approaching a ticket barrier at a London Underground station in a large, rapidly-moving crush of people, so that you move through immediately following your predeccessor, who, unbeknownst to you and perhaps even to him, has a defective oyster card. His attempt to "touch out, in order to avoid paying the maximum cash fare" (in the words of the invariably Indian announcers who so enliven and enrich our commuting days with this strangely Vedic mantra) is of course unsuccessful, and provokes only the dreaded electric angst of the Seek Assistance message, which always seems to me to be more of a nihilistic statement on the parlous condition of co-operation in modern human society rather than a specific injunction (And shouldn't we all seek a little more assistance from time to time, people?)
But I digress.
His little face contorting with dismay, our man in front steps back from the resolutely steadfast barriers, but JUST AT THE SAME MOMENT your own oyster card is irreversibly descending towards the reader. You try to pull back, possibly to tear it from the machine with a cry of NOOOOO and perform a perfect duck-and-roll into the ticket machine, but it's too late. Our man in front veritably squeals with delight as, inexplicably, the barriers foreclosing his future progress are abruptly flung asunder! Marveling at this minor technological miracle, he quickly darts through, like an eager salmon returning to the fabled breeding ponds of his youth. In his wake, the barriers snap back with a scornful retort, entombing you within their claustrophobic embrace and divorcing you, perhaps forever, from the sunlit uplands of the ticket hall beyond. You, my sorry friend, have been OYZUMPED!
The worst part of it is that the clever computer system decrees that you have now left the station. You are dead to the Oyster. You are, in truth, an Anoychronism, out-of-place within the universe of Ken's all-seeing plastic eye. Any further attempt to scan your card leads only to further exhortations to "Seek Assistance! Seek Assistance!" as the machine grapples >>
