Larry Hnetka Goes HMmmm

Grab this and swish it around in your head for a minute.

How do you remove yourself from someone’s personal e-mail list? Especially if that person is fond of egocentric e-mail ramblings broadcasted to each and everyone in their e-mail address book?

Do they have even the smallest clue of who is on their list?

I thought they had culled. I was wrong.

I have friends; you have friends. These “friends” of mine are e-mail ego-maniacs supreme.

I know, I know. I am the last one to call the kettle black. I do tend to drone on and on in my e-mails. However, these “friends” cast me out of their busy social circuit last year because I said I would attend their annual festive open house but totally forgot about the [insert boring] soiree.

Because of my social rudeness, I was one of several non-attenders chastised in their post-party recap. They wrote, dontchaknow they had spent two days cleaning their small apartment, and directed a flurry of indignant remarks to such low-lives as I.

As ego-maniacs will do, the entire hand-slapping e-mail ended with this positive note: “By the way, the party was faboo in spite of those who did not attend.”

I stopped receiving their e-mail missives. I was relieved, to tell you the truth.

About a week ago, my e-mail bing-bonged. I looked at the sender’s name and my eyes glazed over.

Not only was I back on their broadcast e-mail list, I was now subjected to a veritable flood of sorrow and tears.

As I scrolled and scanned through the first e-mail, it seems nothing much had changed in their lives in the year since I thought I’d been deleted from their lives.

The e-mail egomaniacs were boo-hooing about the plight of their poor pooch who was in hospital suffering from a mysterious malady of course. Specialists were stumped. Like a soap-opera diva, I imagined the dog languishing in appropriate dog lingerie and coughing like Camille — little woof-woof coughs with perhaps a speck of reddish phlegm at the corner of the dog’s mouth.

I abide by the aphorism, “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story,” but this was too much. Every poke, prod and unrelenting dog puke detail yadda yadda’d on and on.

My immediate thought was, “but what about me?” “How had my year been without these friends intruding in my own pitiful story?”

I had been outcast. I was the social pariah. Why should I care about the doggie drama of their lives? I have drama of my own to attend to, thank you very much.

Then the second e-mail came the next day. The egomania was written in BOLD - ALL CAPS. Missing from the first e-mail was the incidental fact the couple were booked on a cruise. The dog was jeapardizing their departure.

The e-mails detailed the dog’s ferocious battle in critical condition at the best Vancouver vets. The dog must live; money was no object, they wrote.

Ha, as if I snidely observed as I continued to read daily. These e-mails were all about how sad it would be if faced with the choice of cancelling their vacation to stay home with the pooch.

A-ha, I said to myself aloud. It was “Sophie’s Choice” — the Reader’s Digest Condensed version sent via e-mail.

At about day 5 of the daily e-mail updates, Our Lady of Lourdes intervened apparently. The mind-numbing decision would not be faced this time. The dog has had a turn-around. The vacation plans are a go. They are set to leave early the next morning, I read as each piece of clothing is practically itemized and recorded.

The best thing about cruise ships are their reliability. The ship sails with or without you and on a precise schedule.

My “friends” have boarded their boat. For the last three days there has been no daily update.

I have marked their return date on my calendar. For as sure as the ship set sail on time, upon their return the e-mails (with plenty of high resolution photo attachments) will commence.

Am I a suffering fool not to set my e-mail in-box to automatically direct their e-mails to the trash bin? Do I need to punish myself by wasting my time to open, scan and delete their unwanted words?

Has your head started to hurt contemplating my initial wailing asking just what to do to get off a personal broadcast e-mail list?

In precisely ten days I have to be prepared for the ego-maniac e-mailers from hell.

What to do? What to do? Really, as if I care.

This entry was posted on Thursday, April 19th, 2007 at 2:47:01 AM and is filed under JOURNAL. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.