Sweet Jesus I need help.
This is an office rant. I usually don’t write about what I do or anyone in my office. The main reason is that I don’t want to get fired. But I also realize that the reality is that most of the people that work in my office do not read my blog, so screw it as this is bugging the bejuses out of me. I won’t really break “don’t write about work policy” here, but there are few things that are general to office environments that have been bugging the crap out of me. After a long holiday break, I think that I have to get this out or otherwise I’m going to walk out right now.
So right to it, first and foremost, let’s talk about email. That’s the one that grips my hatred button just about the most. It’s not that people writing me is that bad as I much prefer this rather than a phone call. It’s not that you may get a little wordy in an email, we all know that they should be short and sweet. What it is—its you that put the read receipt on each email that you send. This my friend, is an ass whip.
Ok, fine, if it’s something important, say like you are letting me know that the British are Coming, go ahead and put a read receipt on it. I can understand that. I know that it will help you out while simultaneity screwing me over. I think that it is a fantabulous idea. When the British get here and have us both up against the wall, you can very confidently pull out your read receipt and let them know that you told me they were coming and therefore you are a patriot. I get shot, you get a bushel of corn and everything is good.
But when you are emailing me, say about look how cute the funny dog email that is forwarded to everyone, please don’t put a read receipt on that. It’s a massive pain in the ass because when you do this, and I read it, another screen pops up that asks if I agree to the read receipt. My general policy is no but out of habit I usually just click OK on any dialog box that comes up on my computer. That’s how the porn got there, I swear.
So it’s really second nature for me to click OK and thus you get your much coveted read receipt. I hope that this makes you feel happy and fulfilled that now I know how great that joke was or how I should forward your email if I am a good patriot and pray for all the homeless or how I should watch out for a new rape scam. But I’m a dude so I don’t really have to worry about the rape scam which seems to have missed your thought process but now that you have your read receipt I know that it seems like I’m getting gang banged every night by the Beverly Hillbillies. The Deliverance guys are in fact, right now, hiding underneath my SUV waiting for me to drop the keys so they can tell me how pretty my mouth is , boy.
I know that it makes you feel good to see how many people read your emails. Hey, I can relate to that. I obsess about many people read my blog and I track it. I know that with every read receipt you get back inflates your ego just that much more and you live a little bit better. I know that you have a special email folder where you put all of them in the disguise of “covering yourself” when what you are really doing is touching your screen like a picture of your lost lover over each receipt. “Oh, I remember when I sent that one about the little doggy on the skateboard, hmmmmmm, sigh.”
And please don’t assume that because you do have my read receipt that it means that you must completely drop everything and come down and talk to me about it because you know I read whatever you sent. That completely destroys the whole purpose of the email. If I wanted to talk to you about it, then I’m guessing I would come find you or at the very least send you an email back. Look, I hate to break it to you, but we are not BFF and I can’t see us every being BF4-ever. Not going to happen. Can’t do it. I want to sit in my office, do some of my work and go home. I want to be good at what I do, I want to have a little pride in this. But every time I have to click a read receipt, a little part of me dies and you become a murderer.
I’m going to let you in on a little secret now. It’s my OCD that’s acting up on this one. I have to have certain things a certain way. When I get a bunch of emails in the morning I click all of them very quickly. Why? Because I don’t like having them in bold reminding me that I am inadequate and haven’t gotten around to it yet. It reminds me of procrastination, which I have but do not like to be reminded of. So I quickly click all of them and any read receipts that pop up just so I won’t have that staring me in the face. It does not mean that I have actually read it. I have actually ignored it which you would think would be a hint to you to stop sending me some of this shit.
I know that you give a girlish giggle every time you see one on your screen. I know your heart races and you get close to a faint. I know that it is the highlight of your day rather than focusing on why your kids don’t love you anymore. Hey, that would bring any of us down.
What do you think we think when we see that read receipt pop up? Let me tell you, it ain’t good. You have no idea of the inner workings of a mind.
We think you are trying to screw us over. This is going to make us more defensive. We might have been a nice guy before, maybe just talking to you about your screw-up. Not anymore because now we have officially been notified that you know we are reading your email which we also know is nothing more than a vain attempt to cover you own ass. So here’s the kicker, I’m going to call you on it, attach a read receipt, and basically ask why you are such a fuck-up. Please don’t get upset, it’s just what I have to do when you whip out your read receipt at our next manager’s meeting. I have to have the trump card and smack you back down. It’s not personal, you’re just a bitch.
But I can’t really say any of this at work. If I worked with a bunch of guys, it would be no problem. I would say “Johnny, why you being such a bitch.” And he would say “Gee Hossman, why are you being such a bitch.” And then I would say “Let’s go get a beer at Hooters and call it a day”. And he would say “I love you man, marry my sister.” That’s it, it would all work out.
But I work in an office that is roughly 95% women. I don’t want to be sexist here and I don’t think I am because I have heard many women repeat this. Women tend to hold grudges and many can be overly sensitive to my overbearing ways. Then they get vindictive and have no problem plotting your doom with read receipts. And can we defend ourselves?
Hell no. We can’t because of those two magical words: Sexual Harassment. That’s it, once that is uttered, I’m over, my career is shot. I might as well go pick out my favorite broom handle for the next janitor job I get because it’s the only one place that would hire me. I’m not calling you a bitch for any sexual connotation, it’s just because at times you can be a bitch.
I’m not saying that sexual harassment doesn’t occur, I know it does. Believe it or not, I’ve been on the receiving end of it when a 50 year old Philopino woman couldn’t stop herself from smacking my ass every time I walked by when I was 17. Granted, if she was hot and 21, we might have done business. But she wasn’t and I did feel uncomfortable. But would anyone believe me? Nope.
Because I didn’t have the read receipt to prove it.