Grammar Nazi alert

Yes, I occasionally morph into a Grammar Nazi.

Most of the time, I try to mind my own business, but when I spot errors in English, I sometimes can’t help myself. I think it’s instinctive. I have been pointing out grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure errors in almost everyone’s writing since I was in high school. Sometimes the people who have erred take offense at my efforts to improve their grammar skills.

Then again, sometimes they find it humorous.

Back in the early 90s, I was traveling home from work (on a bus) one afternoon when I noticed an ad that proclaimed Trade-ins Now Excepted. Those words were posted in large letters on a signboard in front of a mobile home sales lot.

Well, that wasn’t what the-powers-that-be meant to say. At least, I hoped it wasn’t. When I got home, I looked up the phone number of the sales lot, called the business, and spoke to the manager.

I tactfully pointed out the error in the sign, explaining why it was wrong. “I think that’s the opposite of the message you’re trying to send,” I said. “If you are excepting trade-ins, you are not accepting trade-ins.”

The manager chuckled and said he hadn’t noticed the sign because he had nothing to do with setting it up. He also said I made his day by telling him about the mistake.

And, yes, when I rode by the sales lot the next day, the sign had been corrected.

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Ms. Hello Hello, part two

An individual who read my previous post and the story on my nonfiction subpage asked me, “Did you ever get to talk to Ms. Hello Hello?” Well, yes and no. I have recounted that drama in the rest of the story, which I have just posted.

And if, by some chance, any of those mystery callers ever read this:

I was never angry with Ms. Hello Hello or with any of the other callers who left messages on our machine. Yes, I was annoyed. But how could I be angry with them when I did not know who they were or if they had a legitimate reason for calling us? I wish that they had been willing or able to call back. Maybe we could have helped them with what they needed/wanted. Or at least pointed them in the right direction.

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Blog fodder – Unsolved personal mysteries

Personal mysteries make great blog fodder. Some people seem to have experienced enough of them to fill a book or two. Over the years, I have been annoyed by more than enough of my own, way too many of which involved anonymous phone calls.

Consider the shenanigans that made us wonder what the heck was going on when late Other Half (OH) and I lived in Arizona.

On January 26, 2000, while I was at work, a young woman called our home and asked to speak with OH. When he told her she was speaking with him, the woman hesitated. Not being the most patient person in the universe, OH didn’t wait for her response. “Well, okay, goodbye,” he said and hung up.

Later that afternoon, an older (according to OH) woman called and asked to speak to OH. When he replied that she was speaking to him, the woman giggled and hung up.

Tongue-tied Tess and Ms. Giggles were followed by the caller I dubbed Ms. Hello Hello. Beginning in the middle of February, that young lady intermittently called our home over a period of several months. Ms. Hello Hello never spoke with either of us. With the exception of her first call, “hello, hello” was the only message she ever left on the answering machine.

Oddly enough, during that same time period we also found other mystery messages on the machine once in a while. All the callers asked to speak with either OH or with me, but they never said who they were or what they wanted. And they never left a call-back number.

One caller was a woman who was carrying on a semi-interesting conversation with someone in the background. She seemed to have a preference for grape and mint lollipops (yes, really). The woman asked to speak with me. A week or two later she called again and asked to speak with OH. Another time, a man left a message asking to speak with OH. His voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. The man didn’t call back.

The most puzzling message was from a somewhat tearful little boy who asked to speak with OH. I estimated that the child was probably between four and six years old. Yes, it was a little boy, not a woman with a soft voice as someone suggested (I do know the difference).

I’ve often wondered if those other calls were simply coincidences. Then again, perhaps Ms. Hello Hello had friends.

[Note: In 2009, I wrote an essay about this phone fiasco and published it on another site. An excerpt from that essay is posted on the nonfiction page of this site. The excerpt has been modified somewhat, mainly to include the exact dates, as they were not included in the original version.]

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Confessions of a seventh grade plagiarist

[Note: It’s just too hot here to write or do much of anything today, so I’m recycling. Sort of. This is a modification of a post I originally published on another site in February 2007. (Yes, the other site also belongs to me.)]

Unfortunately, well-known authors sometimes have no compunction about passing off other writers’ words as their own. I’m not a well-known author by any means; however, I confess that I once was guilty of doing a little plagiarizing. But I haven’t done it lately.

I haven’t plagiarized anyone else’s writing since I was in the seventh grade, way back in the Early Jurassic Period. That’s when I copied a short article from the World Book Encyclopedia. My classmates and I had to write reports about various trees. I don’t remember if I was allowed to choose which tree I wanted to write about or if the teacher assigned that one to me. Either way, I just couldn’t get excited about oak trees.

As I do recall, most of my classmates felt the same way about the project and also copied their reports from encyclopedias. Yes, I know that “everybody does it” is no excuse. But, hey, I was a kid; I really didn’t know any better then. And anyway, my 200 plagiarized words about oak trees did not get me a six-figure contract from a major publishing house.

When the teacher read our reports, he must have suspected that the majority of class members had copied the information from whatever encyclopedia was handy. I think that more than one student was assigned to write about a particular tree. I still wonder if the teacher discovered any “duplicate” reports. If he did, he never mentioned it in front of the class, and he never told us that that we should have written the reports in our own words.

Since seventh grade, everything I’ve claimed/admitted to as being my written work has been my very own. Yes, my work is strictly mine. So if you don’t like what I’ve written, you can’t blame anyone else.

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Where I was when the lights went out

One afternoon, not too long ago, I was attempting to do some writing when the electric power crashed. It wasn’t the first time I’d been left in the dark (figuratively speaking that is, as it was 4:45 p.m.), but it was the first time it had happened at my current address.

It’s annoying.

I could have kept on writing because the laptop, being a laptop, also runs off a battery. However, I decided I needed a break. So I temporarily abandoned my project and walked down to Walgreen’s to pick up the weekly sales flyer.

Well, Walgreens was literally in the dark.

I left the store and looked over at the café across the street. The window sign flashed OPEN, so I knew the café had power. I went over there, and the server made me a fresh pot of decaf. (One benefit of being a regular customer.)

I sipped coffee and watched as people tried to enter Walgreen’s and were turned away. Watching customers drive out of the parking lot triggered my memory of another blackout.

Many, many years ago, I was hired as a part-time associate at a brand new SmartMart located in a small New England city. I normally worked in a department, but I was also trained as a back-up cashier. However, I had yet to be called to the front to run a register, which was okay with me. My department provided customer service. As long as I worked alone, I was left alone. And I worked alone most of the time.

But that Friday night, there were two of us there. Being the only SmartMart in a fifty-mile radius, the store drew scads of customers from four states. When the assistant manager (AM) called for backup cashiers, my co-worker (CW) flat out refused to go up front.  So, of course, I went.

I had been running the register for about twenty minutes when the lights went out, leaving the employees and what seemed like a half zillion customers wondering what the heck was going on. As it turned out, a wire-walking squirrel had been zapped. Sadly, that wrong move resulted in the demise of the squirrel and a temporary loss of electric power to homes and businesses in the surrounding area.

Fortunately, the store had a battery backup system that allowed cashiers in the first row of registers to continue ringing up sales. Unfortunately, the battery backup was good for only about thirty minutes. Cashiers in the second row of registers morphed into baggers for the frontline cashiers who were frantically trying to get the customers out of there.

So there we were, my bagger and I. I’ll call her “Mary,” but that’s not her real name. Within what seemed like seconds, our line snaked all the way back to the ladies department. And it kept snaking as more customers joined the line. I tried not to look at the line because I just knew that I would freak out and start making mistakes.

Fifteen minutes into the blackout, CW marched up to my register. She pushed her way through the customers, planted herself in front of me, and said, “You need to leave the register right now and come back to help me straighten up the department.”

Um, the lights were out. Yes, a generator was providing emergency lighting in the store, but only the main aisles were lit, and not very well. From my vantage point, the departments looked pitch black. I wondered how much straightening up she thought we could do.

Mary was a full-time cashier. CW ordered me to let Mary run the register, but I wasn’t about to do that. I didn’t have the authority to make that decision. And Mary wasn’t volunteering.

CW stood her ground and continued to demand that I leave the register. All the while, I was trying to get customers out of there before the battery backup died. And I was getting super annoyed with CW. The customers were giving both of us nasty looks. After putting up with her whining for a few more minutes, I asked Mary to find the AM, explain the problem, and ask him what he wanted me to do.

Mary returned a few minutes later and said, “The AM says to stay right where you are and keep running the register.” CW stomped off in defeat, presumably, to straighten up the department.

Good luck with that, I thought.

My thoughts drifted back to the present when I noticed people going into Walgreens. I figured the power must have been restored over there. I also figured that picking up a sales flyer wasn’t that important.

So I went home.

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Another hiatus (sorry about that)

Yes, I know. I haven’t been blogging for a couple of months. And I won’t be until July (June is almost over, y’know). My excuse, um, reason is that I’m waiting for my new computer to arrive.

In the meantime, I’m doing some writing the old-fashioned way—with a pen and notepad. I’m making notes for the Camp NaNoWriMo challenge that I’ll be attempting (again) in July.

I participated in the April challenge. Well, sort of; I had the best intentions. I signed up to write ten-thousand words, but, with other things going on, I ended up writing about five-hundred words.

Maybe I’ll do better this time. Maybe….

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I am Not a ghostwriter

Recently, I’ve noticed what seems like scads of online ads posted by people offering to ghostwrite college students’ academic papers. That is so unethical. If students get caught submitting someone else’s work, they will receive a failing grade for the project. In worst case scenarios, they could be expelled from class or kicked out of school.

Of course, there are no consequences for the phantom authors. They collect their fees and continue doing the work the students should be doing.

As an editor, I will work with students who need my help. I can review grammar and punctuation with them. I can make suggestions regarding research sources. I can edit their reports and research papers and offer suggestions for revision.

However, I will not write their papers for them.

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Hiatus

On hiatus for a while. Finalizing plans for a family member’s memorial service. Be back soon.

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Don’t know how to market this

In December 1989, a notice in the local paper requested readers to send in their Christmas stories. The stories could be either fiction or nonfiction. I wrote a very short story and submitted it to the newspaper at the last minute. My story wasn’t published, but I didn’t toss it. I even began revising it a couple of times.

The story is an odd one, even for me. I wrote it from the point of view of a five-year-old girl, with the timeframe set shortly after the end of World War II. It’s not really a children’s story. Then again, it’s not really an adult story either.

Recently, I took another look at “Susie’s Surprise.” I have no idea where to market it; I suspect it isn’t marketable. That’s why I posted it on this site under the heading My Work in Progress. I’ll leave the story up for a few weeks while I make some more revisions, and then I’ll look for a venue to post it online as a freebie.

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Blog fodder

I’m always looking for blog fodder, i.e., potential topics for blog posts. With that in mind, I take notes about, um, interesting things I see when I’m out and about.

I try to do this discreetly. Yes, I do get funny looks sometimes. And If anyone asks, I’ll say I’m drafting a blog post or making a grocery list. In other words, I’ll give the inquisitive individual some explanation that won’t get me insulted or assaulted.

Fortunately, I don’t personally know the people whose pontifications, actions, or descriptions end up in my notes. That makes it easier to not use any names when recording my observations. If I lose the notebook, I don’t have to worry about anyone figuring out who these people are.

Just for the record, I never make notes about anyone that I actually know well: friends, family members, or coworkers. It isn’t that they’re not interesting; it’s just something I don’t do. If they say or do something noteworthy, believe me, I will remember it.

For example, way back in the Late Jurassic Period, my best friend wore a leopard-print slip to her logic class (yes, a few classmates caught on that it wasn’t a fancy skirt, and yes, she wore another slip under it).

Obviously, that event was burned into my memory. Blog fodder, thirty-plus years later.

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