At the coffee shop where I purchase my boss's latte each morning (which I am required to do because he cannot remember the specifics of the drink he likes, no joke), a bulletin board is currently announcing the addition of yet another new caramel-based coffee drink/glorified milkshake. Only "caramel" is misspelt as, wait for it, "carmel", per the apparent tendency of around 85% of Americans. Since I am a tiresome, unbearable pedant, this pink-chalked bugaboo has been gnawing at me for the week or so it's been up there. Today, I . . . Christ, it's humiliating to relate. Today I dropped a note in the tip jar along with my change, suggesting the error be remedied. A note in the tip jar! A kowtowingly friendly, unhuffy note that included a hopefully sting-reducing smiley face (it felt necessary to lighten the mood in this way, but I bit my lip till it bled anyway, as punishment), but a note in the tip jar nonetheless!