Friday, January 5, 2007

Out with the old?

Is it just me . . . or is deleting emails a scary experience fraught with visions of unseen repercussions? I'm one of those pathetic individuals who loathe deleting a single email even if it's the original message of a week long exchange. I currently have over 7,000 messages languishing in my systems 'sent' folder (and my husband calls me an introvert!)

Some might consider this affliction a baseless paranoia. Not so! My affliction is a defensive mechanism developed as the result of working with an agency owner who considers archiving a religious pursuit. Being that this individual views all interactions with upper management as ‘Us vs. Them’, she has developed an almost pathological need to be ‘right’. It's like dealing with a obstinate adolescent who’s decided that her parents have the combined skill-set of a cumquat!

There’s nothing worse than having to communicate with an anal-retentive who is always trying to get the upper hand. I’ve known lawyers with less need to provide evidence. Even after making a brief social call simply to ask “So, how are the kids?” I’ll receive a multi-paragraph email stating “This is to confirm that on March 22nd between the times of 8:50 am and 8:53 am, I said that the kids are fine”. This email will be copied to half of the civilized world and then saved for future reference.

Ms. Anal Retentive’s superlative historian tendencies do fail at times, especially if there’s a dispute over the facts, or if it’s suspected that either she or one of her people are (gasp!) wrong. She goes from Ms. A.R. to Ms. I.R. (Incomplete Recall). History often becomes abridged as attempts are made to prove a point.

What usually happens is that I’m forwarded an email; something archaic from many years ago. Ms. A.R./I.R already has the advantage since my middle-manager memory has atrophied to the size of a cashew due to having to juggle more responsibilities than an obsessive-compulsive clown! The result is that I’m left with a research session worthy of an entire bottle of Visine in order to confirm whether or not this was the final email in the string or only the fifth of a series of a hundred and twenty two!

This responsibility falls entirely on my slumped and sagging shoulders given that my manager has the opposite problem; he simply cannot let an email linger in his inbox. Deletions are his specialty. He spends the entire workday with his index finger poised mere centimeters above the upper right hand corner of his keyboard, trembling with eager anticipation at the prospect of eradicating an errant SPAM message or an email from the company president (same difference).

I met some young people the other day that only use email for recreational purposes like talking with friends and family, or ordering stuff online. What a lovely concept. To them email interactions like mine are a psychosis worthy of its own telethon!

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