Typos were infrastructure.
The DNS migration list had normal marketing domains, category phrases, old properties, and a small museum of ways people could misspell Shutterstock.
Missing letters. Extra letters. Swapped letters. “Shuttershock.” “Shutterstick.” One version that looked like somebody had given up halfway through typing.
There were dozens of them.
Each name had to resolve somewhere. A customer mistyping the brand should not land on an error page or, worse, somebody else's site. Defensive domains were cheap insurance until the company owned enough of them to become a system of their own.
Some names captured product categories. Others caught common keyboard slips. A few existed because the internet had a sense of humor and the company preferred to own the joke.
Now that system had to move.
DNS work looked trivial from the outside. Change a record. Wait. Done.
The actual migration was inventory, ownership, expiration dates, name servers, redirects, mail records, and the quiet knowledge that one forgotten domain could create a very public surprise later.
The list itself was the first control. Before moving anything, we needed to know what existed. That is true for domains, servers, vendors, and nearly every other part of operations.
The funny names did not make the work less real. They made the spreadsheet harder to discuss with a straight face.
At a growing internet company, the edge of infrastructure kept expanding. It was not only servers and switches. It was every technical dependency between a person typing an imperfect name and the product appearing on the screen.
Somebody had to own that edge too.
Even the bad spelling had to work.