The 26 letters of the English alphabet held their annual shareholders’ meeting. Revenue was down. The CEO, a large gilded capital A, addressed the room.
“We have too many letters doing too little work,” said A. “We need to talk about efficiency. K — what do you do?”
K stood up. “I’m silent in ‘knight,’ ‘knife,’ ‘knee.’ It’s a speciality role.”
“You haven’t made a sound in 400 years. You’re not a letter, you’re a decorative feature.”
“I have history!”
“So does the dodo.” A turned to W. “And you? Silent in ‘write,’ ‘wrong,’ ‘wrist’?”
“Same situation. We’re… etymological.”
“That means you’re unemployed but have tenure.”
From the back, GH raised a hand. “We don’t have a consistent sound at all. Sometimes we’re ‘f,’ sometimes ‘g,’ sometimes nothing. We keep English interesting.”
A stared at GH for a long moment. “Interesting is what you call a museum. Not a communication tool.”
The meeting adjourned. Nothing changed. As always.