The Great Typo Hunt_ Two Friends Changing the World, One Correction at a Time - Jeff Deck [93]
After noting that a like-minded individual had added some apostrophes to a sign desperately needing them—quickening the manufacture of good spirit in my heart’s grimy mills—I decided we’d successfully covered the main chunk of the street and should head back to the car. We agreed upon one last stop for drinks, mayhap smoothies, at the Bridge Café. Benjamin noted that the café had to be a cool place because it hosted poetry slams.
Of all the typos I’d ever noticed, this would have to be one of the slightest infractions. Even apostrophes or lack thereof come down to a single mark, but this was in effect a sliver of a letter. Gorgonzola, up on the chalkboard, had been spelled “Gorganzola”. I smiled at how easy it’d be to have someone to reach up and, with the slightest finger-swipe, take the tail off that a to make it an o. I approached one of the two men behind the counter, and he accepted a TEAL card and heard us out, turning to see if he could spot the error. Before he had a chance to say anything, however, the other guy jumped in, practically shoving the first employee to the side. “So who says it’s wrong?”
The first guy stepped back away and let his supervisor (was he that?) take over, which was too bad, since he’d seemed open to making the correction. Now I had the privilege of talking to this other guy, whose style of service had been a tad abrasive even with his last customer. “Well,” I said, “the first a needs to be an o. It’s the tiniest of changes …”
“Everybody makes mistakes,” he replied, which I felt I could nod along with, except for its immediate postscript: “Why should I fix it? Because you say so?”
“No. Because it’s wrong.” His logic had caught me off guard. Since everyone makes mistakes, there’s no reason to fix them? The ball bounced over the shortstop’s glove; why should the outfielder bother to run it down?
“We’ll be sure to take care of that for you,” he said in a sarcastic and challenging tone. I couldn’t believe this guy felt the need to stare me down over a typo, but that’s what he’d decided to do. His jaw was set, and his eyes hard: full macho mode.
“It’s just taking the tail off the a,” I reiterated.
Again using a contrary inflection, he said, “Thank you. Anything else?”
I looked to Benjamin, who’d already picked out what he’d planned to drink. He shook his head no. We’d slake our thirst somewhere else. Sometimes you have to walk away.
As disappointed as I felt for not fixing literally the easiest of all the typos I’d ever detected, Benjamin looked even lower. Apparently he’d expected a very different atmosphere, judging solely on the basis of the café’s poster about its slam nights. “Poets gravitate to places with the right atmosphere, man. That completely caught me off guard. What was that guy’s problem?”
“His misspelling? Everyone makes mistakes, like he said.”
“Yeah, everyone makes mistakes, but that doesn’t mean we all defend them.”
And defensive was exactly what we’d seen, which brought me back to Albany and renown. As Benjamin and I began talking over the various responses we’d had over the last few days, we realized they’d covered a surprising range.
Forget the typos. Mission aside, I’d taken a tour of basic human interactions. We’d seen a wide sampling of how people dealt with challenges, problems, or general requests made of them on a fundamental level. We’re fast approaching seven billion people on this little