…or, how seriously I take proper grammar

About 15 years ago, shortly after moving to a new apartment, I noticed a nearby sign using the wrong form of “your.” Spotting grammar errors in the wild had always thrilled me in a disturbing way, prompting my self-proclaimed expertise to rear its haughty head and correct the problem. I might have just scoffed at this sign and allowed it to fade into the background of my commute, an annoying reminder of the trouble with homophones, if it were located anywhere but an elementary school parking lot. I couldn’t suffer the irony of a glaring misspelling greeting students as they were dropped off to Language Arts to learn about pronouns and contractions. So, I had the sign changed. Accomplishing this feat required several skills: a keen attention to detail identified an error in mechanics; dedicated to preserving the integrity of public education, I drafted a brief but stern letter on the importance of fixing the sign; I researched potential recipients to determine who had jurisdiction; I revised certain parts of my letter to appeal to this audience; finally, I included a copy of my complaint to the school, gently suggesting they turn the sign into a teachable moment. In short, I problem-solved by investigating and communicating effectively, and lo and behold, around one month later, I got results: the sign was replaced, the misspelling redressed.