'Fuck' - A Critical Deconstruction

 I wrote this on a napkin on my lunch break when I was maybe 20:

Sitting in the food court, I wondered, "Would they really throw me out of the mall if I were to shout 'Fuck!' at the top of my lungs? I mean, I work here." And at first I thought, "Yes, they would," but I asked myself why. I had, for the moment, entirely forgotten why one would not say ‘fuck’ in public.

I ran a simulation in my head: If I shouted "Fuck!" and no one did anything, then the adorable little girl walking past me could say "Fuck!" and I knew this to be funny and wrong, but I still couldn’t remember why.

I idly thought the word to myself, how everyone says it, how if everyone uses it–most often without any meaning–how then could such a word be bad? I thought the word again, and in one golden moment it was entirely without meaning or power, and everything made sense. I had deconstructed the word and removed its center, separating signifier and signified.

Then I imagined a 19 year-old brunette, mid-coitus exclaiming, “Fuck my fucking cunt!” and reality snapped back into place, and ‘fuck’ was dirty again.

On the upside, that brunette had a fabulous body.