TO: Emma, Site Hosting Representative
FROM: One of the confused millions
RE: Our unfortunate exchange last night.
I’m sorry I yelled at you.
When I say yelled, I mean all-capped three quarters of my answers to your incomprehensible questions, as there really is no such thing as talking out a problem with anyone over the phone other than my mother these days, and that’s a little iffy if you know what I mean. I also apologize for the inexcusable use of exclamation points to end all my sentences. Some of them twice. I do make it a point when writing to avoid them wherever possible. Always have.
But I was angry Emma. Angry and frustrated and hopped up on my third glass of red wine which is also something I make it a point to avoid when I’m writing, for reasons that probably seem fairly clear to you now.
And this, however interminably, brings me to my point, Emma – if indeed that is your real name, for I’m almost certain I saw your Live Chat photo on iStock last week, and let’s face it, ‘Emma’ is suspiciously user-friendly. I should know, it’s my daughter’s name.
But I digress.
My point, Emma, is this. I’m a garden writer. I spend four to five hours a day lightly dusted in dirt, spend two to three hours jotting down thoughts and studying other references, and then I use the rest of my daylight hours to do frivolous things like pay the mortgage or get some laundry done before we all go naked.
I don’t do this virtually, I do it in reality. With real dirt and real mortgages and real headaches when I’m forced to deal with the electronic world around me.
I’m busy. Like everyone else. But it’s a good busy, and I do not regret a moment of it. Frivolous activities aside, if I’m not connected to the magic of soil, I’m connected to the magic of language. Except, and this is where you come in my dear – possibly virtual – girl, I am forced to spend so much time trying to figure out how to connect in your world that I’m losing the connection to mine.
It’s a brave new world out there Emma; but then perhaps you don’t understand the reference, much like I didn’t understand the indecipherable terms “header code” or WIP file last night, or WTF IS A WP CLOUD PROXY?!??
There I go again Emma, I apologize. That was unnecessary.
My generation is stuck in the middle Emma. Stuck between you and those grayer than ourselves to whom you happily and understandably grant the golden ticket of IT Ignorance. And so you should – they grew up without color televisions and electric typewriters, and we used to feel sorry for them too.
But I want that free pass Emma. And you won’t give it to me. And you are legion.