On our new house front and side entrances, we have those new-fangled doorbells that have cameras. They also have “repeaters,” gizmos that make sure the ringing doorbell can be heard on every floor. We can, on our smart phones (and on my smart watch, too) see who’s at the door and even, if we aren’t fumbling too much to find the app, talk to them.
The bell is audible inside the house, and also outside, playing Westminster Chimes.
So, why do some people feel the need to follow up making a sound as audible as neighborhood church bells on a Sunday morning with banging on the door? How quickly do they expect us to get to the door?
And if we don’t appear within about ten seconds of the first bang, bang, bang—which sounds more like thud, thud, thud from inside—they don’t ring again; they repeat the manual pounding.
Now, our offices, where we spend most of our waking hours, are both on the second floor, which is eighteen stairs above the first floor. Being a relatively intelligent person, I categorically refuse to leap to the floor below, or even to the landing below, to arrive faster. Would you? No, of course not, because you’re smart enough to know that gravity needs to be treated with respect.
The final stair is about twenty feet from the front door, and around the bend and a sharp turn through the mudroom from the side door. Centrifugal force is the one that needs respect in that, thankfully rare, trajectory.
Sometimes, the person at the door, who can see a vague form through the distortion of the glass, will knock even as we approach. Like we might not know why we’re racing to the door? For encouragement? Just ‘cuz?
This nonsensical behavior reminds me of the few times one of our cars has stalled in traffic. Why? Because even though we are quick to get out and raise the front hood to indicate “dead car,” the people directly behind us honk.
Just Plain Wrong
Yes, some cars can be started remotely, but I’ve yet to hear of a stalled car being miraculously restarted by the horn of another car. Maybe some drivers believe they have special powers. Whatever the reason, it’s never worked.
As far as things that are just plain wrong, let’s go back to using the right words. Previously, I ranted about the misuse of ‘I’ as the object of a verb or preposition such as to, with, for, at, under, over, against, etc. I won’t go back over that topic now, but I will say that I’m five books into a delightful light fantasy series in which the author has not missed a chance to get it wrong. (No, I won’t identify the series or the author.) Every single time that she should have used me, she used I. Except the time she should have used us but used we instead. Sometimes being consistent is not a good thing.
There are so many more words that get mixed up, it’s hard to choose just a few. How about they’re, their and there? They’re is the contraction of they are. Their means something belongs to them, like his belongs to him. And there is a directional word indicating something is somewhere that isn’t here. (Except when used by fictional people, as in the supposedly comforting “There, there,” which I’ve never heard a real person say, and wouldn’t find comforting.)
I will confess that affect and effect are the primary reason I don’t turn off spell check; I still can mix them up. Affect is a verb—most of the time—meaning to cause something, while effect is a noun meaning the thing that was caused. The earthquake under water affected the normal tide. The effect was a tsunami.
The exception to affect as a verb is when it’s used to refer to how something or someone appears, for example, a person can be described as having a flat affect, meaning their expression is dull, unresponsive, blank, or disinterested. When used this way, it’s pronounced with the emphasis on the first syllable—af-ect—instead of the second—af-ect.
After this, dear guest, you probably have a flat affect.
How about these perennial favorites to mix up: who’s, whose and whom (with a little who thrown in).
Who’s means who is, and though a bit awkward, you can also have who’re, meaning who are. Think of whose as his or hers, so it doesn’t end up in place of who’s.
Who is like he or she, while whom is like him or her. Who does things, while whom gets things done to it. Whom never does things; who never has things done to it. Whom are you talking about? Or, more formally, to avoid ending a sentence with a preposition: To whom are you referring?” “Who did that?” Never, ever, “Whom did that?” That’s like saying “Him did that,” which you wouldn’t do if you were over about four years old.
And here’s a quicky: It’s means it is. Its is like his or hers.
Thanks for reading this latest rant.
© Kate Freiman 2026