The Great Typo Hunt_ Two Friends Changing the World, One Correction at a Time - Jeff Deck [21]
On my own again so soon! How vital was a partner in correction—how forlorn felt I without one. Benjamin’s absence hobbled the League’s gait. I visited a couple of souvenir and T-shirt shops and made rote fixes to a few typos here and there, but my orthographic heart was listless. Then I came upon the biggest typo I’d seen to date, on a giant marquee outside the “Pacific Superstore.”
Suddenly vigor crested over me. I had to show Benjamin that I could do this alone. I strode into the store. The place was a cavernous repository of beach gear and trinkets, perhaps imported wholly from the other coast, as the name of the store implied. I saw one shopper present. I hung around for a moment until a short lady approached me. “Can I help you?”
“Hi there,” I said. I gave her the heartiest grin that I could manufacture. Which may not have been all that convincing, I admit; I’ve always been a more adept scowler. I knew I’d have to work on my salesmanship, though, in this and future typo-related endeavors. “I noticed that your sign out there in front has two ts in SWEATTS, and I was wondering if there was a reason for it.”
She gave me a puzzled look and accompanied me outside, where she looked up at the sign. She was unmoved. “Oh yes, but I thought that sweatshirts did have two ts when shortened …”
“Well,” I stammered, “no. I actually have a strange request for you—can you take one of the ts out? I’d really appreciate it. You see, I—”
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to ask the manager,” said the lady, indicating a long-haired guy perched on a ladder while talking on a cell phone and making adjustments to surfboards on display along the wall.
“Hello,” I said to the manager when he came over. I gained some more momentum, sensing that this was an essential trial of my mission. Its outcome would predict the success or failure of the many confrontations to come. “I couldn’t help but notice that your sign out front has two ts in SWEATTS. Could I ask you to, uh, fix it?”
“Does it?” he said. Now it was our turn to promenade in front of the Superstore. He headed for the door. “Who would have done that?”
Certainly I had a suspect in mind, but since TEAL’s mission focused on amending the error and not on finger-wagging, I shrugged, following behind him. “I’m actually traveling around the country correcting typos, and it’d be great if you could fix this one. Would you be able to do that?”
Strangely, my story did not faze him in the slightest. The guy was but the first of many supervisors, middle managers, and wage slaves who would take the tale of the League at face value with no visible reaction. Probably half of them didn’t believe me, or didn’t care.
“No, they don’t care,” Benjamin would explain some few hundred miles down the road when the topic of responses came up during our westward journey. “When you’re a service manager, things break into two categories: typical and atypical.” I had become atypical, and atypical was bad.
The manager peered up at the sign, squinting in the sun. “Yes, that’s not right. Don’t worry, I will make sure that it’s fixed.” Evidently he thought this would be enough of a response, as he started for the door.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I pressed, “but could you fix it now so I can take a picture of it? I’d really appreciate it. I’m keeping a blog, and I can write this in.”
He hesitated, then glanced back into the echoing interior of the store, still nearly devoid of customers. “All right, I will do this for you, but you must hold the ladder.”
I nodded, sensing a solemnity to the moment. “Sure.”
He returned with a ladder a moment later. For some reason it was a different ladder from the one he’d been using to adjust the surfboards. Perhaps it was reserved for handling requests from meddling passersby.