The little counter on top of my email inbox page says 143 saved emails. A couple months ago I was down to 13 or so and gave myself an A+ for effort. There’s a few really good jokes in the mix that I’ve read and laughed at but just can’t let go to the depths of “Old Mail” because someday I may want to amuse myself again, just for the heck of it.
Yesterday’s “someday” is here, and I still haven’t responded to the nasty email from our insurance agent. At a quick glance, they say we’ve used up all our broken-windshield replacements for the year and we’re on our own. Maybe a week from next Tuesday I’ll write back and beg to differ, as they just don’t seem to understand that glass hazard season is year-round, not just the summer months, in our part of the country. Heck, Ed’s pickup windshield shattered into a million pieces one winter in 30-below temperatures after a crow made a dumping fly-over. That bird’s poop froze solid in mid-air!
The five correspondences from “Live Help” are saved as new to someday return a stern letter to the supervisor of my online abuse and frustration.
“Hello, my name is Sir Goofball. How may I assist you today?” is how each post starts out. I tried calling the 800 help number one time but received the repetitive answer of “All representatives are busy sipping coffee and serving more important customers right now. Your call will be answered when we’re darn good and ready.” I would sure like to meet up with a couple of those polite little helpers offline in a dark alley sometime with the words “Hello, my name is Emily, and I’m here to make your help session very enjoyable with this here pitchfork and wheelbarrow.”
My printer gave me the proverbial “fatal error” message when I tried to upload a photo of my niece’s new horse. The first page unveiled an eye, the second a hoof, the third a tail, and so on. When emailing the friendly Compaq Company for help, they used up what was left of my ink with their complicated technical answer.
There are a few saved email quotes from different horse-hauling companies to ship a two-year-old filly of mine to her new owner in Virginia. When I agreed with the gal to handle the shipping transportation on my end, I should have overloaded on patience pills with the first inquiry. The Sir Speedy Company sped right up with a return note that promised to have my horse door-to-door in one week’s time. When asked what week of the year that would be, their “prompt online response” took three weeks.
Haul With Care Horse Travel actually called me on the phone the next day with an automated voice message of “Please email your exact address and daytime phone number, along with the horse’s destination, so an associate may email you with a price quote.” Huh?
Air Ride Horse Travel emailed photos of their luxurious air-ride, 12-horse vans, guaranteeing safety and comfort for my filly. They should probably delete the photo on page three, of the driver smoking a cigar while petting his pit bull.
There are several emails saved as new from long-lost relatives inquiring about various aspects of Ed’s and my happenings. I have a rough draft put together to “send to all” one of these days that simply states: “We are fine, and how are you?”
A friendly neighbor with a local phone number has an ancient letter in my inbox that explains everything from what she has grown in her garden for the last 10 years to in-depth details of her dog having puppies. I printed it out when I still had a supply of ink, but, I’m sorry, it would have taken me a week to respond and answer all 12 pages. I bet we respond back and forth in person next week at the county fair, and it’ll only take three minutes.
My very first email, ages ago, was posted to my best friend Brandy when she was going to school in another state. I was so dang excited to be “online,” I called her immediately to tell her what time I had sent the note and to relay every word I had written. Brandy’s Internet response brought tears of joy on my end to be connected to the World Wide Web, and she returned my call to confirm I had received her note as well.
For a solid month, chatting and giggling on the phone between email correspondences to tell each other when and what we had written was a grand old time – that is, until AT&T interfered by sending us our phone bills.
Positive feedback was lacking on Ed’s end, and AT&T’s billing transactions sure weren’t “kept as new”…