Occupational Hazards, by Christine Lick

In the universe of occupational hazards, the ones that confront me are, very fortunately, not dangerous ones. Nothing that has me wagering with life or limb, but I will say, mine are the stuff that weird dreams are made of. And peculiar realities.

I earn my living as a proofreader for a design and pre-press house. Not the sort of lofty musing over fusty tomes of literature that I imagined as my dream job when I was younger. Not the fashionably hectic glamour of the glossy magazine world. Instead, I make sure that there are no misspellings on the backs of cereal boxes. I guard against any allergen not announcing itself. I firmly insist that the net weight statement be its proper size, as mandated by the FDA. And I simply will not stand for poor word spacing, skimping on quiet space around bar codes and other crimes of printed packaging. That’s right: I am a tough cookie.

Except when it comes to horrible abuses of language in the name of marketing. If my client has approved (and trademarked!) dodgy adjectives like “Fun-chewy-tastic,” I am a marshmallow. I cave. I look the other way, whistling a cheery tune. I know that my client meant to say “1/3 fewer calories” when they put “1/3 less calories” on their package, so that’s good enough for me. I’ll bet that Fabu-kleen is a real ingredient, on the periodic table in an alternate universe. Can’t call them out for that. And though I personally can see no way in which calling anything “clusters” adds to its appeal, I wouldn’t dream of questioning the client’s judgment when they do.

This kind of mental transcription — reading in one “key,” standards-wise, but playing in another — well, it lashes out at you in odd ways. Where I am forced to relinquish controls on one hand comes out as strange feelings and stringent behavior on the other. Take fonts, for instance. Do you have a favorite font? Or the sense that some fonts are just not right for certain purposes, the way that black velvet is not good for a picnic? Probably not, you with the healthy perspective. But I do — and this bothers me. (I once worked with a graphic designer who had a VERY CLEAR sense of how many exclamation points were too many; I loved that about him.)

It’s a distraction that most folks never deal with. In my world, it’s: I’d like to buy this birthday card for a friend — but there’s an extra word space right on the front. Too sloppy! Mmm — the Cornish hen with chili spice sounds delicious. But I’m afraid it’s chipotle — not chipolte. None for me! I miss parts of plays because my mind goes drifting back to “weird” punctuation in the program. I’ve missed freeway exits, thinking about bad billboard copy, and wondering whom I could contact to make corrections.

I hadn’t realized how bad this had all gotten until the day my sweetie and I were shopping for a present for his 4-year-old nephew. He turned to me, picking up a boxed game and remarked “Look— they have the ‘for ages’ guideline different in the Spanish than in English!” As we quickly moved to the next toy option, it became clear that my obsessing was affecting my loved ones. I’ll admit, I felt somewhat proud that my guy had picked up some admirably picky tendencies, but also I felt guilty for leading him the way of my madness.

So since then, I try — with uneven levels of success — to turn my editing inward. To unclench a bit. To swing and flow. And above all else, to keep the workweek out of the rest of my week. It’s a work in progress, but a good goal to have, I think. If you are here with me, I wish you my best!