The Great Typo Hunt_ Two Friends Changing the World, One Correction at a Time - Jeff Deck [98]
“Case in point over here,” Benjamin said. Jane and I saw that his old foe, subject-verb disagreement, had returned: “… each draws like a pencil, doesn’t rub off on hands, and—amazingly—take about 10 years before it disappears.” Even here in a shop full of cleverly manufactured goods, in one of the wealthiest and most educated communities in the state, typos could still happen. I added the s to “take” and we moved on. Benjamin brushed his hands together. “Glad I got to see one last disagreement go down.”
Farther down the road, an extraneous apostrophe in neon vexed us, for old time’s sake. A pox on PASTA AND SALAD’S! We stared at the restaurant window, knowing that the owner would not likely replace his expensive fluorescent tubes just because we said so. “I wonder how much they paid for that,” Benjamin said.
“Those plural apostrophes.” I sighed with mock despair. “It seems we’ll never be rid of them.”
“Why not?” Jane asked.
“Self-perpetuating,” Benjamin said. “Other people who aren’t confident about their apostrophe use will see this. Then they’ll be adding plural apostrophes to their own words.”
“Viral, huh? So maybe you need a viral solution.” And like that Jane gave me an inspiration for what the League’s next move might be. She saw it in my eyes, too. “Uh-oh, bear. Why do I have the feeling I’m going to be helping you design something in Flash soon?”
“Hmm,” I said significantly. “I wonder what that solution would look like.”
We sat down for lunch in Harvard Square and batted around some crazy ideas for what the TEAL site—and what the League itself—could grow into. I devoured my food, barely registering it. I should have been exhausted from my travels, flinging myself back into my own bed for a marathon snoozefest. And yet, now that I was back, armed with everything I knew, I wanted to charge forth and do more. The possibilities seemed boundless and yet within the bounds of my ability. This wasn’t the end at all, more like a phase shift, or maybe our quanta ascending to the next state.
We talked over some ideas as we ate, and agreed that today’s hunt wouldn’t be the last post. Next I’d start a contest, soliciting typo corrections. I could post entries on what counted as a typo or not, and on strategies for typo hunting—emphasizing the kinder and gentler approach, of course. We had enough ideas for at least five posts, maybe more if people began submitting their fixes.
Having clung to one side of the street on our way down, we headed back up Mass Ave. on the other side and again ducked in everywhere. Anything to prolong and enrich that last hunt. I hooked my arm in Jane’s, and Benjamin strolled along behind us, examining our environs more carefully. For someone who’d begun the trip with no interest in the typo aspect, he was pretty intent on the mission now. He stopped us and pointed out something we’d stepped right over, a workman’s graffito on the sidewalk: TO CLOSE TO N-STAR. Benjamin took my chalk and knelt by the error, scraping in an extra o. Not quite satisfied with that, he augmented his work with marker.
“Ahh!” Jane said as he worked. “The typo tried to get our toes!”
“They attack from every angle. They’re everywhere.” We’d taken out many, but they remained abundant.
“Well then, I guess you better get to work with those ideas,” she said, and I petted her arm. Despite her Hippie tendencies, I had her support. I’d explained to her via e-mail and phone how she’d helped me reshape my orthographic worldview after Benjamin and I had slugged it out in the Midwest. I wondered if I could explain my position to everyone sufficiently for both Hawk and Hippie to align themselves with me, to push for a few crucial changes in the way we approach language. E.g., that people could be their own editors, that all