Had a bad typo today ... not gonna talk about it. When you print publications, life is a series of hopefully long, peaceful interludes between the gnashing agony of the typo that gets through. I have a mental list of every one I have ever printed. Today's was nasty ... only upside is that we have to reprint, so at least it will never see the inside of an archive. Agony.
So I had best appease the typo gods with this little paean that I have long had taped to some visible spot in my office.
The typographical error is a slippery thing and sly;
You can hunt it 'til you are dizzy, but it somehow will get by.
'Til the forms are off the presses, it is strange how still it sleeps;
It shrinks down in a corner, and it never stirs or peeps.
That typographical error is too small for human eyes;
'Til the ink is on the paper, when it grows to mountain size.
The boss just stares with horror, then he grabs his hair and groans;
The copy reader drops his head upon his hands and moans.
The remainder of the issue may be clean as clean can be;
But the typographical error is the only thing they'll see.