UNTRUE STORY
Grammarly Banned Me. Are You Next?
A warning to all writers
I awoke at 11 AM to the ominous sound of a knock at my front door.
Wrapping a robe over my “I Love Pancakes” nightgown, I hurried down the stairs. I opened the door to find a well-groomed man in a crisp suit.
“Hello, are you Kristen?” the man inquired.
“Yes. How can I help you?” I asked.
He took in my disheveled appearance, displaying a slight expression of disgust.
“May I come in? I have some news.”
The Meeting
I ushered my mysterious guest in and cleared the Amazon boxes and crumpled chip bags from the kitchen table. He sat across from me as I waited anxiously for him to speak.
“I’m Don, an Account Executive at Grammarly,” he said in a level tone.
“Oh, an executive. How fancy! Where’s your Rolex?” I asked.
His face turned pink. “No, it’s not a leadership position or anything. I’m 25. Everyone starts at that level.”
I stared blankly.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I am here to let you know that we are banning you from Grammarly.”
I gasped. “What? Why?”
“Your writing ability is so poor that it’s making the artificial intelligence depressed. The entire program may implode.”
“There must be a mistake. I’m not that bad. Also, I have the free version. Would it help if I upgraded?”
Don furrowed his brow. “No, this is a total ban. We need to remove you from Grammarly at once.”
The Evidence
“What, exactly, is the AI struggling with?” I squeaked.
Don sighed. “Well, for starters, you end too many sentences with prepositions.”
“Prepo-what? You mean like Indecent Preposition? I love that movie. I can’t remember if Demi Moore bangs Robert Redford or not. I need to re-watch it.”
“No, ma’am. It’s Indecent Proposal, not… never mind. You also write “theiy’re” a lot, as in t-h-e-i-y-’-r-e. Why is that?”
“It’s hard for me to remember if the right word is “their” or “they’re” so I just mash them together. It’s kind of brilliant, actually.”
“It’s idiotic, and it deeply disturbs the AI. Your historical fiction is problematic as well.”
“You mean my Civil War stuff?”
“Yes. You seem to be confusing Abraham Lincoln and Antony Blinken, the current U.S. Secretary of State.”
“Lincoln, Blinken — they rhyme. That’s easy to mix up. Plus, they both wore tall hats, and they died in theaters.”
He squinted at me in confusion. “Blinken is alive. I just said he is the current Secretary of State.”
I stared blankly once again.
He continued, “The AI is only trained to search for spelling and grammar issues, but it processes your factual errors too. Our data shows it has learned to cry as a direct result of editing your stories.”
“Sad little fucker, huh?” I replied.
Don removed a sheet of paper from his briefcase. “Your gratuitous use of foul language is another point of concern. You wrote an ode to your great-grandmother and used “fuck” seventeen times. Look, I’ve circled them in red.”
I glanced at the paper. “That’s because Grandma Myrtle was fuckin’ rad.”
Don shook his head.
The Farewell
“Look, the AI is coded to uphold the highest editorial standard. You’re simply not the caliber of client we want at Grammarly. Our leadership has decided that today is your last day with us.”
He stood up and grabbed his briefcase.
“Well, it’s theiy’re loss,” I said.
“Did you spell it t-h-e-i-y-’-r-e in your head?” he asked with a slight smile.
I smirked. “You bet your ass I did.”
As he headed to the door, I called out, “How will I edit my stories now?”
He shrugged. “Start with a dictionary and a thesaurus?”
As he disappeared into the daylight, I poured myself a breakfast shot of whisky. I laughed to myself. “What a moron. Thesauruses are extinct.”
More self-deprecation:
