BoomerGirl Diary

(Another Thing to Not Do Before You Die If You Can Possibly Help It)

I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in English in 1972. I’d planned to use that degree to teach English in high school, but then I got out of college and realized that everybody knew how to speak English already.

One of my first jobs post-graduation was as a proofreader at a publishing company, and wherever I worked after that, I was the appointed editor and proofreader of all meaningful company documents. And then came computers and word processing, and with that came automatic grammar corrections and Spell Check.

My advice: Do not trust Spill Chick.

And the sentence above illustrates the issue perfectly: Spell Check does not recognize a correctly-spelled word used incorrectly.

I was reminded of the limitations of Spell Check when we sent our company brochure to the printer. Did I proofread it word for word? I’ll admit that I can’t remember, although you’d think that I would have given my background and given the fact that it’s my own company. But I’m sure that I hit the magic Spell Check button. It’s so easy, why wouldn’t I?

Well here’s why: Because in one inattentive moment, a company that specializes in mergers and acquisitions can become a company that specializes in mergers and accusations. (“Well, okay. We’ll go ahead and put our two companies together, but I still say you suck.”)

When we received our company brochure and found the error, my husband thought it was far funnier than I did, and I spent an inordinate amount of time feeling guilty about missing the error and guilty about the fact that my parents spent all that money to put me through college and all that I learned to do was how to make Sloe Gin fizzes, smoke cigarettes, and swear like a longshoreman. But soon after our spelling problem, an obituary caught my eye while I was reading the paper. Now if there’s a composition in this world that should be proofread with great care, it’s an obituary. But there it was anyway:

The beloved and recently departed husband, father, and grandfather loved to hunt and hike in the woods, and "listen to the quacking aspen.”

Reading that, I fell mulch bettor.