[ WP ] aliens land in southern texas . They are very peaceful unless agitated . They are also grammar nazi 's .

The heat from the dryers and the damp from the washers had turned SooperSuds into a hot house. The doors were open but there was no breeze, just heat bubbling off the hoods of crappy Mondeos and empty parking spaces. Hammy was in the back, probably smoking all of my pot while I gave Mrs. Archuleta a refund. She was wailing at me in Spanish and pointing at the cloudy, water-filled drum of the number sixteen washer while her granddaughter fished socks out of the murk. Bitch breaks more washing machines, I swear. 
 
 “ Excuse me. ” 
 
 He had a pinched look to him, like he had a shitload of scotch tape somewhere at the back of his skull holding back his skin. It ’ s a look I ’ d come to associate with aging actresses on TV, a look that was not all together human. He stared down at me with pinched lips and eyes that... well, it was like he had to tell himself to blink. Blink. Blinkblink. Blink. 
 
 At the time, I figured he was probably from Houston. 
 
 “ Your sign is not correct, ” he said. 
 
 “ What? ” 
 
 His jaw worked. “ ‘ Sooper' is not a word. ” 
 
 Oh Christ, one of these guys. “ Well yeah, but it ’ s like a gimmick, right? I mean, you ’ re not supposed to take it seriously. ” Pinched in his long, thin hands was a piece of paper I recognized — I ’ d taped them up about two hours earlier. It read: 
 
 **Our bulk dryers arent in order! “ Sorry ” for the inconvenience! ** 
 
 “ And this. ” He tapped the paper smartly. “ There should be an apostrophe in ‘ aren ’ t ’. And when you enclose ‘ sorry ’ in quotation marks it sounds like you ’ re being sarcastic. ” 
 
 “ Maybe that was the point. ” He just looked at me. Blink. Blinkblinkblink. I rubbed my forehead. “ I work in a fucking laundromat, okay? We have one shitty computer, which is like a Windows 60 BC, and the printer doesn ’ t work half the time. So when I make up a sign, I ’ m not exactly going to like, I don ’ t know— “ 
 
 “ Read it? ” 
 
 “ Whatever dude, ” I muttered as I turned away. “ Fucking grammar nazi ’ s. ” 
 
 “ Grammar Nazis. ” And by then his voice had changed, and the humid room suddenly seemed cold. Mrs. Archuleta started screaming across the room. Something wet slithered around my throat. “ I could hear that possessive, young man. Grammar *Nazis*. *NAZIS! * ”
