Wheñ Oñly Oñe Persoñ Cañ Iñform
This happened many years ago. While I was in grad school, writing my thesis on Spanish and Italian drama, I got a job as an “editorial assistant.” I didn’t really do any editing: I proofread articles, but had to get the micromanaging Senior Editor’s permission before making any corrections, and wrote reports for her to put her name on.
I survived the humiliation by talking about my thesis to anyone who would listen and placing grad-level books prominently on my desk.
One day, the Senior Editor burst out of her office and asked:
Senior Editor: “Is [Other Editor] around? I have a question about language.”
This was before Google.
Me: “Maybe I can answer it.”
I said, glancing at the book on my desk.
Me: “I studied Spanish linguistics as an undergrad, and now I’m in grad school, working on my thesis.”
Senior Editor: “No, you wouldn’t know.”
[Other Editor] was not around, so she walked down the hall to ask a third editor. They didn’t know the answer.
She returned, annoyed.
Senior Editor: “When will [Other Editor] be back? I really need the answer.”
Me: “I think he’s at lunch. Why not let me give it a try? Maybe I can figure it out.”
She rolled her eyes.
Senior Editor: “This isn’t a question about typing. It’s about language. Just call me when [Other Editor] gets back.”
She vanished into the office. I had nothing to proofread at the moment, so I started reading my book.
About ten minutes later, [Other Editor] walked by. I stopped him and called [Senior Editor], who came out of her office, livid.
Senior Editor: “Finally! I need you to answer a question about language. No one else at this company has any idea: What do you call that little mark that goes over the letter ‘n’ in Spanish?”
I pointed to my book: “La historia de la literatura española.”
Me: “You mean like that one? It’s called a—”
Senior Editor: “Yes! What’s it called, [Other Editor]?”
Other Editor: “Sorry, I have no idea.”
I kept my mouth shut.
By the way, as everyone learns in fifth-grade Spanish, it’s a tilde.
