Ever found yourself cursing the hazards of modern day workplace conveniences? You know, like the blasted fill in the address feature of Outlook? Most of the time I use Constant Contact for the emails I send out for work, but the 1,500 people who are one that list are also in my Outlook address folder. I am not particularly gifted in the areas of math and science but suffice it to say that each time I go to send an email out, a drop down menu appears and I have about 30 options for most letters- for example:
B – Brenda, Bill, Bonnie
Baxter, Benton, Benson
Brandon, Brendan, Bartholomew
Beasly, Beardsley, Bomtchke
Benita, Boralta, Banda
Buckley, Business, Becky
Bruce, Brownell, Biz
Benedetti, Barbara, Berrault
Brenda, Barcomb, Baby
Brackley, Bracken, Brenkin
Bob, Burt, Brown
Bailey, Bonine, Bizby
Generally the emails I send are to a core group of folks. The other day I was sending one to a co-worker, one of probably 10 I had sent her that day, so I figured her name would be the first. It was in regard to someone who needed something from me. To say she snapped her fingers and tapped her clickety clack, peeling faux snake skin stiletto at me as a means of requesting something would be a misrepresentation. Because, you see, that would mean getting her lazy ass out of her chair. Soooo, you can probably imagine what I typed in the email, no?
Actually I was lucky, I wrote something not entirely untrue, something along the lines of:
I may be offline for a bit. I am going to do blankety blank for little miss Joan “have-someone-else-do-every-little-thing-for-me” Padinski.
I quickly scanned it for typos and hit send. Just before it disappeared with a whoosh sound, I saw a name flash across the top of the screen. The name was not that of my dear, able-to-keep-a-secret coworker. No, it was the name of a woman who is in the same field as my husband in this very small town that we live in. She happens to not like my husband, or maybe it’s just coincidence that she crosses to the other side of the street or ducks down alleyways whenever she sees us and stares daggers at us at events.
I was horrified. I threw my arms wide as if somehow it would halt the transmission.
“Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no! No, no, no. NO!”
Avery quickly teeter totter trotted my way and cocked her head to the side,
“Oh no? No? Oh no?”
Briar called to me from the computer, “S’it ok mama? S’it ok?”
“No, oh god no, no, no.”
“Oh no? oh! No!” Avery declared as she pressed her face to mine.
I quickly clicked over to the sent file. Maybe I read it wrong? Maybe it hasn’t gone.
Sent: Subject: Grrrrrr
To: The Wrong Fucking Person You Idiot
Date: Too late
I immediately sent another email apologizing for sending an email not intended for her. I explained it was written in the heat of the moment and should never have been written at all. I closed with a plaintive request that she see fit to delete the email. Then, not content to leave it at that I called her. Oh my god I called her. I felt like I was suddenly inhabiting a Ben Stiller movie. Every fiber of my being was screaming to just hang the damn phone up.
Ah hi, this message is for Maureen. This is Amanda. I am calling in regard to something that I believe has happened to all of us, and if it hasn’t, you’ve at least read of it happening to other people and you always hope it won’t happen to you, but it did. To me, not you. I sent it. The email. This is about an email. An email I inadvertently sent to your address. (No shit). Ah, yes, you see, well, the thing of it is I really meant to send it elsewhere. And, while it is an email that is, um, well it isn’t something I would want anyone else to see. I really am hoping that you could find it in yourself (Find it in yourself? Really, Amanda? Just please stop now!) to delete the email. No need to call back, if you could just delete the email I’d be ever so grateful. And if you ever need anything from me, don’t hesitate to call (No, I think she’s all set with that little piece of small town blackmail. Well done Amanda, well done)Ok, so, guess that’s it. Have a nice night, and thank you again.
Ever since my hands tremble and my legs quake before I hit send.