Proofreading is a life sentence

Handwritten page of a diary dated Sept. 1, 2007

hadn’t seen each other since we both used to work at the same newspaper in the late ’90s.

We used to talk about the Burning Man festival and we always promised we’d go some day, but I didn’t really expect we would. Then he got a job in Las Vegas, and he called to say we should really go this year. And now we’re here.

Other than the fact that we constantly have to worry about sunscreen, we’re having a massively good time, except for our argument over playing mini golf. We played a lot in the old days because there was a course next to the good hamburger place, and I usually lost, but once in a while — just often enough to make it interesting — I’d whoop him good.

So at the festival I said, “We have to play this mini golf course for old time’s sake.”

He said, “No, they spelled GOLF wrong on their sign.”

I said I’d already noticed it, but we should play anyway.

He said, “Two proofreaders can’t play at a place called MINI GLOF.”

I said, “Come on, we’re not proofreaders any more.”

He said, “You can’t quit being a proofreader — even if no one’s paying you to do it. Once you’re a proofreader, you’re a proofreader for life.”

So instead of playing, we went for a ride with some guys who had their golf cart decorated like a metal duck with flames shooting out of its head.


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Published in: on June 23, 2010 at 4:30 am  Leave a Comment