There’s a typo.
You’re plummeting into the bowels of hell.
No? Still here? Phew. But, how? We all know a typo is a death sentence. Actually it’s far worse than death because your imperfection and incompetence is immortalized for all to see.
There it all goes. Years of hard work and dedication disintegrates in a flash because of one little letter out of order.
Oh, the horror! A letter not in its proper place. A stain on your otherwise pristine reputation.
No one will ever take you seriously now that you’ve gone and revealed you’re a human.
An ugly, flawed human who sometimes makes mistakes. Never mind the fact that you don’t listen when your partner speaks to you, are stingy with your affection, or that you tend to be chronically late.
You. Made. A. Typo.
No one worth their salt will ever do business with you again.
Your shame will follow you down grocery store aisles, occupy the seat next to you in the waiting room, and stare at you while you drift off to sleep.
When it comes time to share your secrets, you will tearfully reveal that once, long ago, you made a typo, and you never lived it down.
