Hey there, grammatically inclined-readers. I just did something wrong in that last sentence. Do you know what it is?
If so, you need to be a copy editor.
Remember all those former friends who grew to hate you because you always corrected their grammar? Well, you can earn that same scorn from the editors and reporters at the Lobo, but this time you’ll get paid for it.
For every night you catch comma splices, dangling modifiers, or misspelled words, you get paid $40. That’s enough to buy some real online friends who won’t hate you because you’re better than them.
In fact, that’s the whole perk of the job. You get to be better than everyone else in the whole, wide world. You know how unnecessary gerunds and adverbs are, and you know how useless the people are who use them. And no one, and I mean no one, can take away that sense of self-worth that comes with being right all the time.
The requirements are simple: You just have to be crazy smart, which you probably are because you caught that earlier mistake, you clever grammar freak, you, and take a copy-editing test at our open house tonight. Sure, other people will be there, but I am sure you, dear reader and grammatically aware individual, are better than the rest. And tonight is your chance to prove it to me and the rest of the staff.
Bring your Associated Press style guide (available at most major bookstores) and your mad skills, and get ready to settle into your new future of friendlessness. But you don’t need friends when you’re always grammatically correct, do you, dear reader?
I have one challenge more for the bravest, looniest, and best of you editors out there. My current copy chief, Craig Dubyk, is leaving for England to study the etymology of the ewok language in his continuing quest to become one of the furry creatures — don’t ask me, copy-editors are weird — which means the paper needs a new copy chief.
The highest scorers will be subjected to another test, and the overall winner will have the option to become copy chief. The position includes a $7 pay raise, a newspaper hat, eternal bragging rights and proof to any doubting friends or family that an English degree does pay.
The rest of your life awaits you in a dimly lit back room. Claim what’s yours.
Get content from The Daily Lobo delivered to your inbox
