Freudian Slip

What I really want to post about today is the thrill of new mommy-dom.

But I'll resist, because Real Life doesn't revolve around my new baby (even though My Life currently does).**1

What I'll post about instead is the dangers of e-mail typos.

Now, with typical typos, it's obvious what the typer was intending. One keystroke to the left or right and suddenly you're typing in gibberish. But it's abundantly clear to the reader that the misplaced "N" should have been an "M," or the "E" should have been an "R," and the confusion clears up relatively quickly with a Reply and a "whoops!"

With atypical typos, you fall victim to a wandering mind and accidentally key in a word which you type more frequently than what you wish to type at that moment.

This happens most often to new initiates of the working world, as they recover from the blasphemy of Collegiate Grammar and need to remember to write "you" instead of "U" and "probably" instead of "probs" and all manner of other words that they abbreviated because typing just takes so very, very long.

It happens less frequently to alumni of the office, as they typically practice cognizance in their e-mail interactions... but everyone is human, and everyone slips sometimes, and as long as you aren't the perpetrator (and aren't easily offended), it's very (very, very) funny.

Unfortunately, though, there's more than just typing that can create a snafu in e-mail.

There's a tiny little nonchalant button that hangs out right next to "Reply."

Most of the time it's either ignored or completely abused.

It's called "Reply All."

You know the worst offenders: They'll plug your inbox full to bursting with little nothing messages directed to one person, but they want you to know that the conversation you were part of two days ago is still ongoing. You could e-mail to request that they not Reply All to you, but then you risk a phone call asking if you're up to date on where the conversation stands after six whole minutes have passed. You could ignore the message altogether, but then you might miss some actual important piece of information and then risk a phone call asking why you're falling behind on the conversation. Damned if you respond to it... damned if you ignore it... damned if you even think about your e-mail while it's in there. It's a hot mess.

But when a typo compounds with a Reply All, it creates a new breed of exciting catastrophe that only those who have experienced it will understand.

The instance I'm referring to went something like this:

"Hi, Sunny - would you please forward all of the finalized files to me for posting? I will need the templates that are part of the SOB. Thanks."

What she was referring to, of course, was a Standard Operating Procedure, typically abbreviated as "SOP."

But what she should have been typing was very different indeed.

Now, ReaderFriend, if you'll happen a glance down at your keyboard... the "P" key and the "B" key are quite far removed from one another.

Which means she fell victim to the second of the two conundrums: typing too quickly, and without enough brain.

What she typed instead was probably her typical response to her best friend as they discuss her dating shenanigans, or what she discusses with her sister when they commisserate their dead-end jobs.

"The SOB didn't even call me back the next morning."

"He didn't thank me for staying late to work on his project, the SOB."

"I paid for dinner, and the SOB just let me."

"I have to send an e-mail to the SOB at ACME about some procedure or another."

It could have been any of those that were crossing her mind as she typed.

It shouldn't have been there... but it was. And so it popped up and seamlessly flowed into the conversation.

In a Reply All message including two heads of her company.

Some days, you just have to sit back and laugh... because there's no helping them, and no one's angry at you, so you might as well enjoy the fun before the shit show starts.

(Which, of course, it did. The backtracking, the redirecting of the conversation, and the general shaming of the Silly Person Who Mis-Typed.)

Happy Hump Day, ReaderFriends!


**1 Someday I'll write the post about how it doesn't matter how many legs your new baby has: New mommies need their own mommies to help. I don't know how many time's I've made the "Hi, Mom, I can't talk long because he's about to [insert typical puppy behavior here], but I just have to ask you... is he supposed to __________?" It doesn't matter that he's got four legs and didn't come from my insides: He's my baby. He's her grandbaby. And we're both in this for his survival.