Thursday, June 19, 2008

The Workday Equivalent to the ‘Drunk-Dial’

. . . is, apparently, known as the ‘Caffeinated E-mail.’ However, one important caveat to this otherwise apt comparison is that at least when you drink and dial, the recipient can HEAR the two buckets of vodka in your VOICE and therefore understand that you are not in your right mind. Unfortunately, an email sent during business hours is not granted that sort of immunity. I have come to this conclusion after arriving to work and checking my ‘sent mail’ box from yesterday. At first glance, I was certain I’d unwittingly hacked into the account of an extremely powerful and well-connected person—or possibly, that of a celebrity stalker. I read through the list:

To: Very Important Literary Agent
Subject: Wanna read my bad-ass novel?

To: Very Famous Blogger
Subject: Wanna be my best friend?

To: President of My Company
Subject: Wanna let me run this circus?

I’ll stop here —a sign of mature, rational restraint which, evidenced by the 17 or so more outgoing emails that are not listed above, I must have misplaced yesterday, in the A.M. Bloody Starbucks. And it wasn’t even my fault (read: denial is the first sign of addictive behavior).

To the best of my recollection, this is how it went down: I ordered a S-O-L-O espresso, as I always do. However, the very N-I-C-E man at the drive-thru window explained to me that he had accidentally made a D-O-P-P-I-O. Actually, judging from the claw marks on the interior of my truck, it was more than likely a T-R-I-P-L-E---O. The fact that I, for the moment, still HAVE my job, makes me quite certain that it WAS NOT a Q-U-A-D-R-U-P-L-O.

I was reading Dooce yesterday and she was saying that she was not tempted by the espresso machine in her kitchen. Though there was much more to her point, I could not get past that phrase, “espresso machine in my kitchen.” It remained lodged in the forefront of my red, dehydrated, coffee-saturated eyes all day. It called to me. I went straight home and cleared a spot for it on my kitchen counter. (Read: in a mad frenzy I flung all things non-espresso producing from every countertop). I stood, polishing its future local, dreaming of all the things that the two of us (my pink Francis Francis, model X7 and I) would accomplish together. The first thing on our list: relocate all home furnishings to the ceiling, as that’s where I would be spending most of my time. Have, however, reconsidered that purchase since checking afore mentioned email account.

Have refrained from all coffee related beverages today. Inspired by Dooce, I have decided to cleanse and renew by body, in seek of a calmer outlook. Must run. Am out of my new beverage, recently discovered in office fridge. Is called R-E-D B-U-L-L. Is very fruity and deliciously refreshing. Will, no doubt, calm my nerves from yesterday’s debacle and restore order to my cyber etiquette. The other great thing about new fruity beverage: is easy to keep track of how many ounces of liquid consumed in one day by counting number of cans on desk. Thirteen. . .fourteen. . .Does anyone have Jennifer Aniston’s email address? No?

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