A Comma War

Last night, end of the workday, one of the designers comes up to me with 45 signs to edit. Mind you, we often take on 'pro bono' work for nonprofits. Also, mind you, this is the ONE designer who always busts my chops. This is a culmination of both.

Often, work that is 'pro bono' is less scrutinized by designers and editors. Well, not this time. Don't know why, either, cuz I really wanted to go home.

All 45 signs were sold for a benefit for the price of $450 to parents so they can cheer their children on in a sporting event. All 45 signs said "Good luck Spencer" or "Good luck Gina."

I walked, calmly, with the stack, back to the designer, threw them on his desk and said, "What are you promoting here, a bunch of pint-sized pimps and their harem?" Did I mention this designer always messes with me? Always.

He asks, "Whatdaya mean?"

I say, "I MEAN that you are calling all these kids 'Good luck Charlies' and 'Good luck Lucys.' Meaning, without a comma between their monicker and 'good luck,' it becomes part of their name rather than a message TO them.

The designer looks at the clock and says, "I'm not putting 45 commas in. Get over it."

I say, "Nope."

He says, "Seriously?"

I say, "Honestly, I'm not gonna lie to you. If this project was in any other designer's hands," and here I start giggling, "I would insert the commas. It's a MUST-FIX." I bend in full laughter at this point and grasp my stomach. "But the fact that YOU are the designer DOES make me enjoy it A LOT."

He fixed them—All.

Love the comma.