Yesterday I was working on my computer in the coffee shop downstairs when the middle-aged woman sitting in front of me stood up and started pacing back and forth in front of my table. Lord forbid a Minnesotan would ever just start a conversation unbidden. After being sufficiently distracting that she got me to make eye-contact, she said "Oh, goodness, excuse me--would you read my cover letter?"
This came a bit out of left field. She clearly thought I was a stranger, though we had in fact met before. Actually, she had driven me two hours to Duluth to catch a bus and still didn't recognize me, so I decided to relish the half-fact that, as a publishing intern, I radiated such professionalism and grammatical confidence that cover letter-bearing strangers were drawn to my very presence. The woman was applying to teach mathematics at the community college. Now, I am not a crackerjack speller. I always have a very difficult time spelling eighth, for example. I rely heavily on Spell Check. But I was able to spot where she had typed A instead of S so that one of her sentences read:
"As a longtime math tutor, I have developed many of my own teats."
Reader, I betrayed my immaturity. I laughed myself to conniptions in the middle of the coffee shop. I had tears all over my keyboard and I pulled a muscle in my abdomen. Fortunately, Minnesotans have a great ability to laugh at themselves. The woman had a good laugh, I helped her finish her cover letter, and she invited me to go canoeing, because why not?
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