Recently, I met a client for lunch. Later that day I typed an email to him, which began, “It was great when we met for lunch today.” Before sending the email, I reread it quickly and discovered what I actually typed was, “I was great when we met for lunch today.”
Hmm, that sends a completely different message, doesn’t it? Now, in thinking back, I suppose I was pretty good at lunch, but not necessarily great. And even if I was great, that’s not the kind of thing a person proclaims, unless he is an out-of-control braggart.
I do tend to type a lot faster than I should, which produces a fair amount of typos. (For example, for the last word in the previous sentence, I typed “tipos,” “tyops,” and “tpyos” before I finally got it right.)
Hmm, that sends a completely different message, doesn’t it? Now, in thinking back, I suppose I was pretty good at lunch, but not necessarily great. And even if I was great, that’s not the kind of thing a person proclaims, unless he is an out-of-control braggart.
I do tend to type a lot faster than I should, which produces a fair amount of typos. (For example, for the last word in the previous sentence, I typed “tipos,” “tyops,” and “tpyos” before I finally got it right.)
Luckily I caught the typo in the email to my client, so I was able to fix it before sending it out, which means he does not think I’m an out-of-control braggart. Instead, he thinks I’m someone who spends way too much time during business meetings talking about baseball. Oh well, guilty as charged.
Anyway, I started to think about all the emails I’ve hastily typed over the years, and I began to wonder whether I’ve ever sent out the message, “I was great,” when I meant to say, “It was great.” My email program allows me to search for particular phrases, and when I searched my Sent folder for the phrase, “I was great,” it came back with seven matches. I looked at each of those email messages, and sure enough they were supposed to be some form of, “It was great when we got together,” but I typed, “I was great when we got together.” Wow, that is embarrassing. (And some of those meetings were very long ago, so I can’t remember if I was indeed great. Since I’m not an out-of-control braggart, I will admit that during a few of those meetings, I might’ve been only slightly above average.)
Obviously, I’m typing way too quickly and carelessly, which also happen to be the two words that best describe the way I proofread my emails before sending. The only good thing is that the clients I sent those emails to are just as busy as I am, so they probably read my email notes quickly and carelessly also, and never even noticed my seemingly braggadocious declaration. (Braggadocious Declaration. Hmm, that would be a good name for a rock band.)
Anyway, I started to think about all the emails I’ve hastily typed over the years, and I began to wonder whether I’ve ever sent out the message, “I was great,” when I meant to say, “It was great.” My email program allows me to search for particular phrases, and when I searched my Sent folder for the phrase, “I was great,” it came back with seven matches. I looked at each of those email messages, and sure enough they were supposed to be some form of, “It was great when we got together,” but I typed, “I was great when we got together.” Wow, that is embarrassing. (And some of those meetings were very long ago, so I can’t remember if I was indeed great. Since I’m not an out-of-control braggart, I will admit that during a few of those meetings, I might’ve been only slightly above average.)
Obviously, I’m typing way too quickly and carelessly, which also happen to be the two words that best describe the way I proofread my emails before sending. The only good thing is that the clients I sent those emails to are just as busy as I am, so they probably read my email notes quickly and carelessly also, and never even noticed my seemingly braggadocious declaration. (Braggadocious Declaration. Hmm, that would be a good name for a rock band.)
It is a bit distressing to discover that a silly typo changed the entire meaning of an email message. Do you know that feeling when your face flushes and the ol’ adrenaline surge of doom spreads through your neck and chest, as your brain comprehends your mistake and the fact it’s too late to stop it? That feeling happens with me when I realize I accidentally hit “Reply All” rather than “Reply,” or when I make a very snarky comment right after hanging up the phone, and then realize I never actually hung up. Yeah, that “adrenaline surge of doom” is not a pleasant feeling. (Although that phrase, too, would make a good name for a rock band.)
Making mistakes while typing words in an email can be frustrating. But it’s nothing compared to making mistakes while typing NUMBERS in an email, specifically when giving a quotation to a potential customer. Typing “$4,250” when you meant to type “$44,250” can be a big problem.
Making mistakes while typing words in an email can be frustrating. But it’s nothing compared to making mistakes while typing NUMBERS in an email, specifically when giving a quotation to a potential customer. Typing “$4,250” when you meant to type “$44,250” can be a big problem.
The last time I made a quotation blunder of that magnitude was not a fun day. There was no reason to braggadociously declare, “I was great today.” Just ask the owner of our company.
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