Over the weekend I was helping CJ weed through some paperwork that had been accumulating in a corner. She handed me a stack of papers and said, “Could you create a file for these called ‘Blah blah blah’?” (Ok, that’s not really what I was supposed to call it, but I honestly don’t remember now what she asked me. It was probably something like “Taxes 2009”.)
Me: “Sure, where’s the labeler?”
CJ: “On the shelf.”
Me, since she was closer: “Could you hand it to me?”
CJ, reaching up for it: “Come on, I thought you were a little more resourceful than that.”
Me: “I am resourceful.” I took the labeler from her and began to type. “I just outsourced it to you – ‘honey please get me the labeler’ – see?”
CJ just shook her head with a smile and went back to sorting through the pile. I finished the label and hit “Print”. When it came out I stopped for a moment to make sure I spelled “Blah blah blah” correctly. When I read what I had typed, I dropped my head and said “Oh jeez.”
CJ looked up and asked, “What?”
I showed her what printed out.
She struggled to contain her laughter, but wasn’t really successful. The sad part is I can’t tell you how many times I’ve done that – not just with the labeler, but just typing in general. I’ll catch part of a conversation at work, or someone will walk past my desk in the middle of a conversation, and suddenly I’ll get “purchase order” or “creative review” in the middle of the block of code I was writing.
Thankfully, the compiler doesn’t laugh at me every time I do that. It has the sense to tell me that it doesn’t understand what I typed, and leaves it at that.