Trouble had been brewing at Punctuation Incorporated for quite some time now. On their last assignment, the punctuation team failed miserably. Mr. I. Write, the C.E.O., shouldered some of the blame, for he knew it was his responsibility to direct the team's use of correct grammar and sentence structure. He considered blaming Mrs. Proofreader for the poorly constructed essay, but since she was his overly critical lover, he decided against it.
In an effort to save his team, Mr. Write held an impromptu staff meeting. He needed to be reassured that each team member understood his and her assigned tasks.
As the group convened, they carefully selected their seats.
Ms. Comma and Ms. Question Mark sat together. They were best friends, and because of their curvaceous figures, they regularly attended Weight-Watchers meetings together. The main reason their friendship thrived was because Ms. Question Mark never confused Ms. Comma's job for her own. In fact, Ms. Question Mark was confident in her position at Punctuation Inc. and never questioned, which was quite unlike her, what she needed to do to get the job done. Needless to say, she did her job well. It was a common belief, however, that the only reason she did it well was because she rode on the coattails of Who, What, Where, When, Why, Which, and How. These guys adored Ms. Question Mark, not for the proficiency with which she performed her job, but more for her top-heavy figure: she had big breasts. You would never see these guys doting over Ms. Comma like they doted over Ms. Question Mark. Poor Ms. Comma—she had a huge butt.
Exclamation Mark—the office homosexual and the most out-spoken of the group—would have been happy to sit next to his plump friend, Ms. Comma, but in an effort to avoid Ms. Question Mark, he sat by himself. You see, he loathed Ms. Question Mark. She would always make fun of his stick-like figure. In his mind, she was mean!
True to form, Ms. Period sat at the very end, and Mr. and Mrs. Quotation Marks, who were always fighting, sat on opposite ends from each other. Apparently, today's fight had put Mrs. Quotation Marks into such a foul mood, she almost got into a fight with Ms. Period over the seating arrangements. Mrs. Quotation Mark thought it only appropriate that she sit on the end. Ms. Period, suffering from a constant state of P.M.S, was obstinate and would not budge.
Colon and Semi-Colon were still in the men's room where they were engaging in some New Age treatment known as a caffeine-colon-cleanse. Ms. Question Mark, true to her nature, always inquired about this strange morning ritual, to which they would both reply, "You may start your morning off with a cappuccino; we prefer an 'asspresso.'" This would abruptly end the interrogation.
Em Dash—known for his flight of ideas and frequent interruptions—caused quite the commotion as he ran into the room to take a seat. In doing so, he rudely interrupted Mr. Write's train of thought. Taking the only seat available, Em Dash sat next to Exclamation Mark, who flirtatiously leaned over and said to him, "You look simply dashing!"
Once everyone was seated, Mr. Write commenced the meeting. Mrs. Proofreader wrote down the minutes while exchanging seductive stares with Mr. Write.
"Well, folks, I am sure you are all wondering why I called you here today. When perusing our last assignment, I found more grammatical errors than I found in my son's fourth-grade book report," he shamefully admitted.
"This leaves me no choice but to have each of you explain to the rest of us what it is you bring to the table, or more specifically, to a written piece."
"Who would like to go first?" he asked, hoping someone would eagerly volunteer.
"Oh, I'll go! I just love public speaking!" Exclamation Mark declared with great excitement as he bounced out of his seat.
Skipping to the front of the group, he cleared his throat while he shifted his skinny weight to one side and placed his hand on his hip.
"Well, my adoring peeps! I am the cayenne pepper of writing! I spice things up! In dialogue I make commands or exude passion! I add emotion! I add ummph! I add piz—!"
At this point Mr. Write interrupted him. "Yes, Exclamation, you do add some flavor to a piece, but may I remind you that you are one of the junior members of the team, and your input should be kept to a minimum. I recognize your job is important; it is needed at times, especially in written dialogue, to emphasize a sentence that declares utmost emotion. Nevertheless, when you get over-zealous and make yourself too available, it can really ruin the essence of a story. You are an invaluable member of the team, but I must insist you tone down your presence."
"Fine!" Exclamation retorted, returning to his seat. Although he understood the point Mr. Write was making, he couldn't help but wonder if he could find a better job at the Cingular store across the street. At least in a job like that he would be a key player as he graced the text messages on cellphones across the nation...LOL! OMG! BRB! A market such as this would undoubtedly appreciate his true worth. He just knew it!
Ms. Question Mark made her way up to the front of the group. "You want me to explain what it is I do for all of you?" she asked.
Mr. Write nodded in agreement.
"Do I not ask the direct questions of the story? Is this not clear?" she asked. "I ask not what the writing asks of me, but what I ask for the writing. That is the question, right?" Without further explanation, she took to her seat as the rest of the group sat in confusion. It became clear to the team members that although she was good with questions, her talents were pretty much limited.
Mr. Write called on Semi-Colon and his brother, Colon, to address the group. The two were always vying for Mr. Write's attention, but he found them both equally important. Colon, feeling he was superior to his brother, spoke first.
"My job is as follows: I may introduce quotations or summaries, I am the leader of many lists, and I join two independent sentences while allowing the second to amplify the first. My job is important: I am essential," he attested.
Semi-Colon, eager to up-stage is brother, announced, "I am Semi-Colon; therefore, I am." He spoke with urgency. "I unite two related independent sentences where a conjunction is lacking." During his address, Semi-Colon began to fidget nervously, as if to avoid a strong urge. "I must leave in haste; my morning enema is taking effect!" The two brothers quickly left the room.
Next, Mr. Writer called forth the Quotation Marks to inform the group of their job descriptions. Mr. Quotation, the leader of every quote, demanded attention as he explained the following: "The Mrs. and I are like the front and back door of every quotation. Everyone, including you, Ms. Period, must exist within our realms. We enclose everything that is being said, including punctuation. Think of us as your bodyguards; we've got your front and your back." They returned to their seats, but this time, Ms. Period begrudgingly switched seats with Mrs. Quotation Mark.
Ms. Period, determined not to be undermined by the Quotations, stood up from her chair to speak. "I know I may seem depressed to most of you, but you would be depressed, too, if you had to perform a job of such monotony," she explained in a despondent manner. "Simply put, I end sentences....I end a lot of sentences. I am overworked, and if it weren't for Exclamation Mark and Ms. Question Mark, I would never get a break." Close to tears, Ms. Period sat back down, picked up her purse, and retrieved a tampon. She, too, left in haste for the bathroom.
Mr. Write decided to skip over Em Dash, who, as it so happened, wasn't paying attention anyway. Dash suffered from A.D.H.D., and as a result, he was very disruptive. The hyperactive part of his disorder is what earned him the name 'Dash.' He had a tendency—no, more like a social affliction—to interject mid-sentence, thereby interrupting the flow of thought. Dash was commonly confused for his cousin, Hyphen, who was a 22-year-old, all-knowing jerk.
Last but not least, it was Ms. Comma's turn to share her knowledge with the group. Frequently misunderstood, Ms. Comma knew she had her work cut out for her.
"Well," she started timidly, "I have numerous jobs, but I will only explain the basic ones. With help from the conjunction team, I unite two independent sentences, but only if the subject is repeated in the second sentence. Also, I am used after introductory words and phrases. Over the years, there has been much debate over my function in serials. Although it is agreed that I am required between serials of three or more, it is debatable if I am needed after the last serial before the word 'and.' If it was up to me, which it isn't, I would prefer to be present, as I know I can prevent confusion. Unless you are writing for a newspaper, where space is a concern, I feel I have the right to be after the second serial."
Confident she had done a good job in explaining her role, Ms. Comma returned to her seat, where she took out her morning snack of an apple, a piece of cheese, and a carton of low-calorie milk.
Mr. Write was pleased with his team. He dismissed them to return to their cubicles. As they filed out of the room, he realized it wasn't their fault for the poorly written assignment; it was his. They knew how to function in composition, so now it was up to him to understand their rules and apply them accordingly.
With a renewed spirit, he gathered up his material. As he turned to leave, Mrs. Proofreader asked, "Would you like a quickie?"
This casual proposition, though tempting, made him realize that he and Mrs. Proofreader were not cut out for each other. Since he was a better writer than a speaker, and she a better reader than a listener, he responded via post-it note. He scribbled his reply and handed it to her.
"Mrs. Proofreader, I regret to inform you that our tryst is over. First of all, you are married, and secondly, I find you very critical. You point out everything that is wrong with me, you ruin my confidence."
After reading his response, Mrs. Proofreader replied derisively, "Fine! Have it your way, but for your information, 'You point out everything that is wrong with me, you ruin my confidence,' is a comma splice, you idiot!" With that she turned and stormed out of the room.
Her abrupt exit left Mr. Write alone with his thoughts. The stress of the last couple of days had caught up to him. To slow his hurried mind, he did what all great writers do: he opened up his laptop, and Mr. Write began to write.
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