Expeditio (ex-pe-di’-ti-o): After enumerating all possibilities by which something could have occurred, the speaker eliminates all but one (=apophasis). Although the Ad Herennium author lists expeditio as a figure, it is more properly considered a method of argument [and pattern of organization] (sometimes known as the “Method of Residues” when employed in refutation), and “Elimination Order” when employed to organize a speech. [The reference to ‘method’ hearkens back to the Ramist connection between organizational patterns of discourses and organizational pattern of arguments]).
It wasn’t an apple. It wasn’t an orange. In logic’s lore comparing them to each other is a grave error. But maybe, just maybe, today would flesh out the possibility. But, we can’t dwell on that now with gargantuan possibilities breathing down my neck, staining my undershirt with sweet smelling puffs of soapy air. Could it be done?
Could we make it on foot through the car wash?
There were five stages. First, was the huge rolling brush. Second, the swirling side brushes. Third, the undercarriage rust proofing. Fourth, the clear spring water rinse. Fifth, and last, the blow dry—hurricane-force winds to dry us off.
Me and my Airedale Binky had taken “The Car Wash Challenge” from Lars Dinwaller, the Swedish exchange student and class bully. As he fed my $3.00 into the car wash’s dollar bill validator he said “Haw haw, haw to you American loser and stupid dog. This is the end. Haw, haw, haw!”
We had no fear. We had practiced in my lawn sprinkler and we were ready.
Stage one, the huge rolling brush was in front of us. Binky whined. It was poised above our heads. We dashed under it. Stage One, done! Next up was Stage Two—the side brushes. Twirling and spewing suds, they came toward us from both sides. Binky growled. He was hit by a brush. He went down. I had soap in eyes, but I scooped Binky up and ran forward, almost blindly. Nevertheless, Stage Two was conquered. On to Stage Three: the undercarriage rust proofing. I laid Binky over one the nozzles. The cold spraying chemicals revived him. He jumped up and ran toward the spring-water rinse. We had beaten Stage Three. But Lars had cheated. Before reached Stage Four, we were pummeled by the Hot Wax option. We were sticky and could barely make it to the next stage. Under the cold spring water rinse the wax began to harden. I did a little jig and Binky chased his tail and the wax cracked and fell away. We emerged from the rinse, clean and clear. Looking forward to being buffeted by the hurricane drying winds, we had “beaten” the wax, thwarted Lars, and knocked off the rinse at Stage Four. I yelled, in keeping with my Viking heritage, “Odin, bring on the wind” and Binky howled like a tree-toppling microburst. We ran into the wind and were spit out onto the pavement on the other side. Stage Five bested. That, was it. One to five—all obstacles conquered one by one, leaving us only the nickname name that was our due: “Car Wash Kings.”
We had done it. Now, according to the rules, since we beat the car wash, our challenger was required to take the challenge.
Lars just stood there dumbfounded, looking at the two of us—our shiny clean hair and fur glinting in the afternoon sun. He screamed something in Swedish and ran into the wrong end of the car wash, never to be seen again. It is said that, since Lars disappeared, whenever the car wash’s hot wax squirts, it sounds like “Haw, haw, haw!”
The Daily Trope 