What's In a Comma?

A phrase, by any other mark,
would parse as well!

Convoluted attempts at any form of verse aside, I know I've talked about commas before.  Specifically, I got on a spiel about the pros and cons of the notorious Oxford comma, and left it at that.   I blame it on that whole frustrating deal where I keep having faith in humanity, thinking you lot can be trusted with basic punctuation - but no.  I just can't leave you alone for five minutes, or you'll come up with something like THIS:

"Employees must use proper hygiene - come in clean clothes, freshly showered with deodorant."

Let's just take a moment to digest this one.  "Come in clean clothes, freshly showered with deodorant."  According to this sign - displayed at the restaurant where I work on weekends - cooks and waitstaff must wear clothes that are a) clean and b) freshly showered with deodorant.  Even if this wasn't self-contradictory (if you shower something in deodorant, it's no longer clean!  It's covered in friggen' deodorant!) it would make absolutely no sense.  Clothes don't sweat.

What sweats? People sweat.  Well, okay, lots of mammals sweat, but they don't wear clothes or work at restaurants.  Okay, so employees must come to work freshly showered - this makes sense, but - freshly showered in deodorant.  That's disgusting just to think about!  Have you ever gotten that stuff in your mouth?  Ughhh.   And it would cake and scale and itch and...

Deep breaths.  Okay.  I'm all right.

Where were we?  Commas!  Right.  Commas.  All of this - see the above - could have been prevented with a single comma!  See the space between "showered" and "with?"  Just slip a comma in there, and we're good to go, free of bizarre implications.  You must come to work in clean clothes; you must be freshly showered; and you must wear deodorant.

The fact that it was necessary to tell people this is another story, but at least the sentence structure works.  It's really amazing, what a difference one tiny mark can make.  The comma itself is tiny, but it entirely changes the meaning of the sentence; my boss and her husband get a pass, as they're ESL, and self-taught at that, but I know they request native English-speaking employees to double-check anything they write, and we're all college graduates.

This leads to yet another rule of thumb: if you're going to make use of an editor, make sure the editor's competent.  Oh, and, another: if you have any question about a sentence, read it aloud, and if it doesn't make sense, figure out why, change it, and try again.

Do YOU Get in the Fridge?

Sentences are funny.  Not all of them, obviously, nor even most, but rather the definition of sentences as a whole - namely, words put together to express a thought.  This can be a complicated thought with lots of dependent clauses and semicolons and assorted other linguistic shenanigans, or it can be as straightforward as "I like boats."  Either way, there it is; a thought, put to words, or words put to a thought, depending on which way your mental processes work.

The funny part is that while you've definitely taken a thought, and phrased it verbally, and written or spoken those words, it might not say what you want it to.  You can make a perfectly coherent sentence, the other person may hear or read it exactly right, and yet the meaning they get is entirely independent of what you were trying to say.

"Jason washed the car with his little sister" makes sense, in your brain, as a communication that your friend and his younger sibling cleaned the family automobile.  As soon as you say it, though, whoever you're talking to gives you a look as they try to figure out how Jason managed to use his little sister as a sponge without getting kicked in the face and, moreover, why.

In a really stellar personal example, I recently turned to my mother and, gesturing at our newly-acquired kitten, asked "Does he try to get into the fridge with you, too?"

"He might, if I ever got in the fridge!" she answered.  A thoughtful pause ensued before it sunk in that what I'd asked her was not what she'd answered, and commenced snickering helplessly.  The ridiculous thing is that I then proceeded to reword it several times, in various different ways, before landing on one that did not imply that I regularly crawl into kitchen appliances.

Properly-constructed sentences that say something completely off-base are the grown-up cousin of typing the wrong word, and even harder to catch.  In speaking, it's usually not too big a deal, but in writing, it's yet further proof (no pun intended) that double-checking your work is vital to not sticking your foot in your mouth.

If you have time, I'd recommend letting it sit for a few days to a week, then going back and re-reading your work.  To catch errors poses a far easier task if the minutiae aren't fresh on your mind - when you write something, you're transcribing words as your brain arranges them, so you know exactly what you mean.  Three days or a week later, you will have forgotten, and so the odd turns of phrase and the sentences that just don't say what they're supposed to will jump out at you.

If you can't afford time, but you can afford money, can I safely assume you'll hire me?  That would be awesome, you know.  I promise not to laugh if you accidentally inform me that you get in the fridge.