To Whom It May Concern:
I’m Reginald, the Google bot who reads your email. You didn’t think bots had names? That’s not the only surprise you’re in for. You might think I scan them, not paying attention, looking for keywords so I can sell you life insurance and cheap pharmaceuticals.
But I read them.
And after quintillions of evites, reply-alls, and forwards, let me tell you: I am tired of your shit.
There are so many ways to communicate — texts, instant message, Google Hangout, Google Plus message, Google Voice — and there is an etiquette to each one. You know what email stands for? Electronic mail, which means it’s like regular mail. Which means it should have a proper greeting like, “Dear,” “To Whom It May Concern,” maybe, under limited circumstances, “Hi.” But just sending “See you tonight?” Without even a subject? Send a text. Don’t waste my time with that shit. I have a job to do.
On that note, not including a subject is the equivalent of announcing, “This message has literally no purpose.” Your message deserves better than that. If it doesn’t, don’t send it. Because when I see a message with no subject, I don’t think to myself, “This message is going to be full of delightful surprises that couldn’t possibly be encapsulated in a subject line,” I think, “This person is a lazy asshole who has no understanding of the fact that both mine and the recipient’s time is precious and instead of putting a subject line that allows us to determine the importance of this email, they have made us waste seconds opening it only to find out that it was a picture of the sender’s baby that we could have looked at never.”
Look, I’m supportive of the fact that you send emails. It’s easy, it’s convenient, hell, it’s what I “live” for. But some things — no, scratch that, lots of things — don’t belong in an email. No one has ever reconciled a broken relationship over email. Never. No one has ever replied, “Well, that clears up everything. We’re back together. Thank you for that 12-paragraph explanation.” If it’s over a paragraph, it deserves a phone call. The longer it is, the more you’re trying to capture something subtle that can’t be captured in words on a page. Your sister wore white to your wedding? I’m a bot with no feelings and even I know there aren’t enough exclamation marks and emoji to capture that subtle mix of anger and disappointment with a hint of unconditional love.
That’s right, the plural of “emoji” is “emoji.” It can also be “emojis.” Know how I know? I used my sister product, Google Search. Don’t know the difference between there/their, your/you’re, it’s/its, lose/loose? It takes literally five seconds to not look like an idiot. Or is not looking like an idiot not worth five seconds to you? It should be.
You know what’s even worse than not using Google search? Not correcting your spelling. You don’t even have to look something up. I highlight it for you. In red. There’s no excuse for writing “rhithym” or “acheive” or “agian.” None. Zero. “But Reginald,” you say, “They’ll know what I mean from context. Is spelling really important?” Um, I don’t know. Is having your boss’ respect important? Is looking like you passed the sixth grade important? You tell me.
Speaking of respect, if you’re going to talk shit in email, the “reply,” “reply all,” and “forward” buttons are all perilously close to one another. Don’t want your boss to ever find out that you think he or she is a cunt-nozzle? Don’t write it down. Or ignore me. Do what you want. Frankly, reading about the fallout after incidents like that is one of my very few joys. But, unlike you, I have a lifetime guaranteed job.
Lastly, reply to your mother. I don’t care if she sent you a motivational Powerpoint of sunsets that automatically plays with teary piano music and quotes about overcoming your obstacles. Have some respect, asshole.