Remember: Cliches, buzzwords are dime a dozen

It was clear the moment he walked in the door: This guy was wound up like a cheap watch.

"I need some information from you," he said. "How many cliches are too many in one sentence?"

He was a chip off the old block. Years earlier, I'd asked the same question and it's a tough row to hoe. Or is it was "a tough road to ho?"

Six of one, half-dozen of the other, I guess.

To add insult to injury, he was like a bull in a china shop. Or is it China shop? I guess it depends on whether the china is actually from the nation, to cut through the red tape.

But he really opened a can of worms: How many cliches are too many? And is that just the tip of the iceberg? If we get into this discussion, will we soon be worrying about everything?

"Maybe we should just let sleeping dogs lie," I told him. "This is really just beating a dead horse."

But he reminded me that I was a writer, not a veterinarian. Shouldn't I know about cliches?

"Don't judge a book by its cover," I reminded him.

"If the shoe fits, wear it," he said. And he had me. This guy was as honest as the day is long.

"Well, don't put all your eggs in one basket and don't count your chickens before they hatch, which seems alike," I told him. "But I'll give you my opinion."

"Finally," he said. "The squeaky wheel gets the grease!"

I wasn't sure what he meant, but maybe it was a blessing in disguise. I wanted to give him a real answer, not a dog and pony show.

"Now, I'm certainly not pure as the driven snow," I started. "And if what I say sounds like criticism, that would be the pot calling the kettle black."

He leaned forward. As the crow flies, he was inches away. It would have to be a small crow, obviously. But he could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

"As far as I'm concerned, cliches are overused," I said. "Most cliches fall as flat as a pancake, but the devil is in the details."

He was on pins and needles.

"When a writer overuses cliches, it stands out like a sore thumb," I added. "The writer might have good intentions, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

"So be careful when you use them!" he shouted, although his bark was worse than his bite. "I wish I knew this earlier, but better late than never."

I didn't know whether he was just trying to keep up with the Joneses, but when he turned to leave, I was relieved. This could have gone on until the cows came home.

He walked away smiling – on cloud nine, proving that good things come to those who wait.

The conversation was a feather in my cap. And I'd also killed two birds with one stone: I educated someone and got a column topic.

Another day, another dollar.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.