It’s amazing how powerful our emotional response to the opening line of an email can be. I mean, they can send us reeling; particularly the ones that land at odd and illegal times. Like the weekend. Or after 4pm. Bastards. Here are a few examples of the rainbow of email horror. Bastards.
‘I don’t get paid enough for this shit’
The email, sent to you on Friday night, that asks you to put together a presentation for investors for Monday and that also asks if the Managing Director’s nephew can shadow you for the week (he won’t do anything menial, but he’s got LOTS of ideas).
‘Oh my God, I am about to have a rage surge’
Opening the email that says the 8am breakfast meeting is cancelled – at 7.59am. When you’re outside the building.
‘Bollocks, I am going to have be a grown-up, grown-up, grown-up’
When your accountant gets in touch and talks to you about VAT and tax breaks and random legal stuff to do with the government, who you have to give apparently random amounts of money to or you’ll go to prison, because that’s what adult life is. How do they know all this stuff? And why do they think that you’ll be able to grasp it?
‘Am I being scammed by a criminal gang?’
‘We’re starting a collective, constructive, and hopefully uplifting exchange. It’s a one-time thing and we hope you will participate. We have picked those we think would be willing and make it fun. Please send a recipe to the person whose name is in position 1 below (even if you don’t know them).’
‘Holy hell, what was I thinking?’
OMFG, an Eventbrite reminder. That comedy night you weirdly agreed to go to (er, who even are you?) for the princely sum of £85. It starts at 10. And it’s an hour away. Why? And wait… WHY?
‘I hate you’
When your old boyfriend asks you for a work favour. The one who got drunk and admitted that he quite fancied your flatmate. And said that in another life, he would totally have hit on your mum. The one specially created by Satan as a blight on womankind. The one who turned you into a shadow. The one who is now asking for your actual help. What is this, some kind of Harold Pinter play?
‘Quitting and becoming a local fisherman who makes shell necklaces on the side…’
‘I know you’re meant to be on holiday, but can you ring in for the weekly conference call at 10am our time (sorry, is that the middle of the night for you???), we really need those figures and Jeff from sales is off sick with a swollen eye.’
‘OK, I just died’
We’ve been thinking we should have a school reunion!!!!! And you have been voted the person who should organise it!!!’