My Favorite Typo

Perhaps it was a Freudian slip, a Parapraxis. Whatever you want to call it, it lives in my memory as my favorite typo. 

It was a typical summer day in Charleston, the kind where the humidity makes you sweat the instant you step out of the air-conditioning. The tiny window unit in my office was running full blast but not making much of a difference. My boss told me there was a new customer who had walked into our lobby and needed a flyer design. 

I was hesitant due to the fact that the company is located in an area where customers aren’t known for walking in. I met the man in the lobby, and got the impression after chatting with him for a few minutes, that this wasn’t going to be easy. I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was an uneasy feeling that I wasn’t able to place at the time. 

The man handed me a digital camera that he told me contained photos of some of the clothing in his store for use on a flyer. He also gave me hand-written content he wanted included. I took the job, but for some reason I walked back to my desk lacking my usual confidence. 

I sat down and got started. I connected the camera to my computer and opened the folder containing the photographs. It is difficult to ignore photographs once a folder containing them is open, and there were hundreds of images on the camera. I had to scroll through all of them before I reached the images of the clothing. My eyes couldn’t help but see some of the personal family photos that were contained on the camera. 

I am not one to get involved in the affairs of other cultures, but a few of the images were difficult for me to ignore. The images were of a hot summer day, just like the one we were having and the location of the photographs was familiar. It was one of the beaches in the area where bikinis aren’t in short supply. But the clothing his wife was wearing in the photographs didn’t quite fit the scene. She was wearing a black robe, from head to toe, and looked as if she were about to keel over from heat exhaustion. She was wearing a Burka. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression from what I am writing, I firmly believe in freedom of religion and never consider myself in a position to judge, however when I reached the images of the clothing that her husband was selling in his store, I judged. 

The racks in the pictures were filled with lacy, backless, half shirts for women. The clothing looked like it would barely cover one tenth of the person wearing them. It was then that I looked down at the hand written content. At the top, in big lettering, were the words “Sexiest Women’s Clothing in Charleston.” 

I was confused. Clearly the man was adhering to a set of standards for his personal life that he ignored in his business dealings. It was hypocritical. 

Being a diligent designer, I shrugged my shoulders and did my best to ignore my disgust. I went on with the design and did what I could with the photographs and the content. The first proof was sent. 

Instead of emailing back with changes, the customer chose to show up in the lobby to inform me of my mistakes face to face. After the meeting, that feeling was back in the pit of my stomach. 

I went back to my desk and made the changes. We went through five proofs in the same manner, before he was satisfied and approved the file for printing. 

The days past and I went back to my normal work routine. On the third day, my co-worker, who is notorious for finding typos, called me. She found a mistake on the flyers for my hypocritical customer. I couldn’t figure out what the mistake could have been since I remembered running a spell check before sending the file to print. 

She brought the finished flyers to me and pointed out the mistake. In big letters on the front, I had miss-typed “Sexiest” and instead typed “Sexist” so the first line of type read “Sexist Women’s Clothing in Charleston.” 

I was in tears from laughing when my boss came into my office. I had to explain myself. Thankfully, he too laughed and decided that we wouldn’t point out the mistake. We would cross our fingers and hope that the customer didn’t see it until after the flyers were paid for.

My boss personally handed the finished flyers to the customer and accepted payment. We both breathed a sign of relief when he drove away, and we never heard from him again. 

The story I have just told should be documented as proof of the theory of Freudian slips. Typos are a constant in my profession, but this one will live in my memory as my favorite. 

It took me a day or two, after the flyers were paid for, to figure out what the uneasy feeling was that I felt every time I met with that customer. There was a slight condescending tone that the customer had with me. It was so well crafted I didn’t immediately recognize it. I have experienced that type of attitude before, but never that well masked. 

Beware to any sexist customers that may cross my path: my mind will eventually let you know what I am feeling.