I find myself clicking absently. From fifteen feet, it looks like I’m doing something important. From five, it looks like I can’t find the right feng shui for my open windows.
Isn’t it ‘the Outlook window protects from the mountain top as the Explorer lies minimized?’ I can never remember this shit.
I feel someone watching. As I turn, another button monkey chews a granola bar like cud. His eyes through his Coke bottle glasses look huge. Like, cartoon huge. He is completely unaffected by my catching him gawking.
Can I help you, I ask.
He blinks. Big cow eyes.
I lift my eyebrows impatiently.
He blinks. Mickey Mouse eyes.
He swallows. Wile E. Coyote watching an anvil get bigger eyes.
He turns and lumbers away. I notice my toes are balled up into awkward fists. I exhale.
See, this is the internet generation. Desensitized to a complete lack of privacy. In fact, we’ve learned to embrace it. We need to share every last detail right down to the color underwear you wore when you got your last physical — if you wore any at all —
and it’s scribed on all three of your blogs under two of your usernames. And this guy sits behind his bulletproof glasses upon his lotion stained throne of invasion. And he stares. And he catalogs every last detail of your life. And he is silent except for his chewing. And he swallows.
Spankbank is full. Would you like to clean up some files to make more space? (Y/N)
Miles away, I hear a bell chime. It’s my inbox. I have another message. It’s already in my trash folder. It’s from corporate. I whisper to my email filters that I love them.
The subject line is a man’s name. My face scrunches. Upon opening, a carpet bomb of capital letters inform me that
IT IS WITH GREAT SADNESS THAT I TELL YOU…JAMES PASSED AWAY LAST NIGHT AT HIS HOME. I DO NOT HAVE ANY MORE DETAILS RIGHT NOW ON FUNERAL ARRANGEMENTS BUT WILL FORWARD THEM WHEN I KNOW. I WILL BE SENDING FLOWERS ON BEHALF OF FRIENDS AND COLLEAGUES.
PLEASE KEEP JAMES’ FAMILY IN YOUR THOUGHTS TODAY,
P.S. PLEASE FEEL FREE TO FORWARD THIS ON TO ANYONE I MAY HAVE MISSED.
I am confused. Was this an email for me, the company, or her? Because I’m pretty sure that it was not about this gentleman (who we can surmise has PASSED AWAY) and how they will be missed. I check to see if anyone had been missed in the To: list. I decide that her pressing Ctrl+A, C, V in the address book was sufficient. Besides, I don’t really know this guy. Which confirms the email was not for me.
I’m glad she got on the flower thing for us though.