From the “Strrets” of Brooklyn

So, I’m a little on the detail-oriented side. My awareness of typos and their ilk is often useful, but is also a constant aggravation. Even though I agree with some unorthodox spelling and punctuation choices, alarms go off in my head every time I encounter one. When poor spellers and punctuaters have admired the way I’m made, I've always pointed out to them that it’s like having dog-quality hearing, and living in a world saturated in cacophonous dog-whistles.

Last weekend, as I serenely sauntered down the sidewalk on a beautiful day, my nerves were jangled by a flagrant typo on the handwritten chalkboard sign outside a neighborhood bookstore. Given the nature of what they sell, I hoped they’d welcome me if I relieved my pressure by going in to call the error to their attention. While telling the guy behind the counter that it appeared a book title was misspelled on the sign outside, I tried to nullify the potential for insult by saying “the fact that I’m in here telling you this really reflects more poorly on me than it does on the store.” In retrospect, it seems that my self-effacement was unnecessary, because the dude in question began giggling the minute I explained why I was there, and never offered any other acknowledgement. I’ve avoided seeing the sign since then, and I’m going to imagine that it’s been fixed.

On a related note, as I was heading home after spending the night in another neighborhood, I noticed a sign at the Fulton stop on the G train. It informed me that I could go toward “Queens” or to “Smith and 9th Strrets.” How many people approved that sign before it was written in really big letters in the subway? Even the person who glues the big white letters on the big black signs didn’t notice something amiss? After what could be considered a debacle at the bookstore, I don’t hold out much hope for wrangling with the MTA over their signage, but I ought to try to strike a tiny blow for clarity, correctness, for Truth. Maybe I’ll go back there some day and write down the station Superintendent’s name and send a letter. Or maybe I’ll keep telling myself that the sign is quietly trying to persuade us that the “r” sound in “Streets” sounds better rolled, like in Spanish. Maybe the sign is a warrior for phonetic aesthetics.