generiCtrenD.com - whY aM i a slavE tO thE emaiL?

WHY AM I A SLAVE TO THE EMAIL?

Besides bills, here is what I get in the regular mail: Coupons replacement windows and furniture, free magazines I sign up for on the internet, those have you seen me? lost children cards, and information about community colleges that aren't within 500 miles of me.

The only good thing I get in the mail are letters from my grandpa - good ol' grandpa.

Though every day I eagerly look in the mail box. For what? I don't know. Maybe some secret treasure? Or a major award for one the contests I've entered on the internet? Doesn't matter though. The point is, that besides those Zoo Cards that came for a few weeks when I was eight I've never really gotten much in the mail. BUT still everyday I open thinking that Sean Connery has sent me his Grail Diary and its up to me to keep it safe.

Enter the internet and my favorite self esteem booster: EMAIL.

Knowing what I know about the regular mail and my history with it, for some reason I expect to receive some insane number of non-limp dick/cheap software/Nigerian investment opportunities. I get little legitimate messages, which is shocking considering the little amount of messages that I send to other people.

A few years ago I was unable to check my email for a few weeks. Certainly the messages would be just piling up. Every few days I would think about the prospect of checking the account and how it would look like some gleaming Christmas tree ringed with presents and salivate at the possibility. I was sure that in a period of more than half a month that the inbox would be jam-packed.

Maybe even to the point that messages would be rejected. That for once the inbox would reach the quota that had previously never been approached. That my friends would find their messages returned to them and think, wow, he's really popular. Certainly it would be a full inbox, because people would write and after not receiving a prompt reply they would write again. Heck, maybe I would even be charged by my free email provider for causing so much trouble. Just think.

Finally the day came where I could sit down and sort through the endless scores of messages. I fixed myself a sandwich and typed in my password so I could begin what would certainly be a day long process of replying to emails.
And when the inbox loaded up?
Drumroll please. . .

Nothing. Nobody asking how my weekend was. Nobody sending a picture of their kids. Nobody telling me about their new car. Not a goofy forward so someone could get a gift certificate to Old Navy. Not even a funny collection of pictures.

Makes you feel loved, doesn't it? Then I got to thinking. Everyone that would write me knew that I would be away for a while. Ha! So that's why they didn't write me. I felt better. Relieved in fact. Maybe I was liked after all. Because, you see, by this point the email had come to be some measure of how much I was liked or at least how many people I know.

Flash forward a few years.

Recently I moved out of state and for a period of ten days I was without internet access. People had my cell phone number, and were able to contact me there, but a few days after the move I had the number changed to the local area code. So there I was five days away from having internet access and no one in the world knew how to contact me. Not my new job, not my old job, no friends, family, nobody. Sure, I could have called them on my cell phone, but when I got the new cell phone number the memory was erased, so the only phone numbers I knew at that point were the numbers I knew before cell phones were around. Which isn't many. In fact its only one.

None of my employers, past of present, knew how to reach me. What if they needed to. I had told them they would be able to contact me. What if my old boss couldn't find a file (they had called several times before I changed my cell number)? What if my new boss wanted to give me a raise, but needed me to fill out some form? It came to the point where I was convinced that my email was piled up with urgent messages. The fate of two corporate empires were resting in my hands. If only my hands could access my inbox that is. In desperation I turned on my cell phone to check my email there. I found the interned browser option and hit ok. Then a warning message appeared: Additional charges will apply.

I paused.

How much were these additional charges? I knew the phone company has not, currently does not, and never will have any problem with piling on bullshit fees and taxes and surcharges and carrier fees and usage amounts and on and on and on. I had to say no, I couldn't do it. What if I was wrong? What if there were no messages there? So I had to wait until I started my new job to check my email.

It turns out there were no raises awaiting me on my first day of work, but certainly there would be frantic messages from my previous employer. Messages from friends who I had forgotten to tell I wouldn't be able to check my email. Even emails from people whose phone numbers I no longer had. All these messages were certain to be there. After my first day of work I punched in the password to check and anxiously waited for the page to load.

Nothing. Not a one. No messages from my old boss. Nothing from friends or family. Nothing. Not even a forward from the queen of all forwards, my mother. A tear fell from my eye and splashed on the scroll lock key.

I think a piece of me died that day.

Damn you email. Damn you playing with my emotions so.