Instant Message, Instant Disaster

It was Monday, the all sad beginning of yet another 5 work days. I brought in a homemade treat – a 3-layer chocolate cake with delectable butter cream icing to alleviate the wretched curse of the week. The day ground away lifelessly and finally lunch was here. The usual “in-crowd” was notified and relief served inconspicuously. Minutes later, my 29-year-old colleague dropped back in – the verdict was in: it was a success, she said and added that she had shared it with another coworker, Matt, because “He is good to her; sometimes he’d bring in treats for her”. She had done that before – extending my generosity to Matt, only to her own credit. I had thought it not very gallantry of her and sounded my protest; after all, the treat was meant for her, not to mention I didn’t even get recognized. She laughed it off again and left.

What does a self-absorbing, not-at-all gracious person do when he is baited like that? It didn’t take me long before I decided to “remind” Matt via IM of the credit due to me. Matt to me was just Matt, devoid of the detail of last name – our paths hardly crossed and we at best nodded to each other when passing at the office. The only Matt I knew of was a Matt D. and his name popped up from IM. I clicked on him and went straight to the point:

“Next time you have a bite of the chocolate cake, make sure I get my credit (or treat).”

Seconds later came back his reply: “Are you sure you get the right Matt?”

Oh no, said the quick-draw, unyielding warrior to herself, you do not hide from me. “You are just playing with me.” I pushed further with some more comments about my cute coworker’s devotion to him was nothing but a farce, unlike me, faithful and true. He did not seem to budge but continued on his pretence. His persistent innocence finally alarmed me. Quickly I clicked on my 29-year-old colleague. “Which Matt did you mean?” Just like that, her answer put me in a whirlwind of disaster as I stared at the poor victim of my foul play, who was staring right back at me on the screen in his sheer confusion. OMG was exactly what I was thinking, but my quick fingers now reversed to limb and weak while my mind exasperated and numb. “Please forgive and FORGET me” were my last words before I took my quick escape.

My “instant” disaster of course incurred nothing but laughter from the pair of instigators, the 29-year-old and Matt, who were all happy to point the fingers right back at me with a closing argument of “serve you right”. Sheepish but indignant, I refused to take all the blame. After all, I was rightfully entitled to the claim of the credit. Unfortunately, I remembered too that this mishap was not my first offense, or second. The running-up was when my quick finger by mistake clicked on the wrong person with the negative comment on the right person. Not only did I fail to “quick to hear and slow to speak”, but also I stumbled in taming the tongue. The worst crime of all, though, was the unpardonable sin of IM.

I have to wonder how I have strayed so far to become the prey of IM. As a proud and obstinate rebel, I have always given my best, honorable effort fighting against modern phenomenon such as cell phone, twitter, texting and face book – all except IM. Since her first appearance, I have fallen into her spell just like the rest of my colleagues. The instant gratification is so irresistible that I overlooked the minor detail – the fatal side effect of instant disaster. Even so, the cold hard truth is that the unguarded tongue reveals nothing but the reflection of man’s depraved heart. Does technology always mean improvement? Not if it aids to the flawed nature of the creature. I thought of the other forms of instant products – instant soup, fast food, even the Internet – everything engineered against quality and excellence. They were born to accommodate this culture’s demand of speed and convenience -- only at the expense of the far superior essence of goodness such as patience and thoughtfulness.

Lesson of the week: Stay away from instant soup.

8/1/11 – Love Me, Love My Friend

9:50AM, IM popped up from J: “We are going to 7-11 at 10:00”. A man of few words, J was always short and to the point. It read to me “We” as in invite – in name only with no room or time for negotiation. It was the joyful Friday; hope was high and party was in the air. For some of us, me especially, it transcribes as a doughnut from 7-11. I quickly tidied up a few loose ends and grabbed my badge and cash for the outing. I walked out of my cubical, just in time to bump into my walk partner, and his friend.

From outside, nothing was amiss. There were “hi” and smile as the 3 of us walked out. Inside, that was another story: surprise, confusion and finally agitation. It was last Friday all over again when he had brought his coworker for our private 7-11 party. I remember the same frustration bumping into the expected sight of his +1. I had held my composure and kept up my cordial, amiable appearance when everything inside of me screamed the opposite. For most people, “one is the loneliest number”, but to this scrooge, two is worse. Imagine two plus one.

There have been many 7-11 trips over the course of 3 years and plus. Some of them with company, and some without. It is but a few blocks with the same old pavement and deserted shops along the way, and yet pleasant and liberating to the jailed cubical mates like us. Once in a while, Fridays especially, motions will be passed for a trip there to replenish supplies such as coffee or treats, which we know is more of an excuse than necessity. Whatever motives they may be, I prefer the trip done in solo – it eliminates the burdensome chit chats and most importantly, the change of pace, without which I am always reprimanded with “what are you hurrying for!”. After a couple months of our morning walk J has fallen into a “special” category with an allowance of concession for my 7-11 trip preference. It started as a gallant gesture from me to indulge my walk pal and clearly ended in disappointment as a result of misunderstanding for each other: we both mistook each other for more than who we are - J thought of me more socialable while I took him more loner.

I remember D, my ex-colleague who moved back to the other side of the water last year, invited me to go on his “Facebook” and the new Google+ project for fun things such as “circles” or “hangouts”. I realize too this invite was a gesture of fondness or favor. After all, he wanted me to be his “friend” and even meet his “friends”! With a whirlwind of changes bursting in our world nowadays, none bewilders me more than Facebook. I’d like to claim the excuse of “I have too many friends already”, but the truth is I really don’t do friends, let alone friends’ friends. As social creatures, we have the built-in desire of company, but since when such needs are realized with the worst of both ends – impersonal as in on-line and personal as in exposing your private life for the world’s eyes? J’s crime, though not in the same category as D’s, is still severe in that he inadvertently assumed that my acceptance of his existence implies the extension of his friends’. Granted he was by no means the first offender caught on act, it is unthinkable and most importantly uncomfortable to be the victim of it. Putting aside my inadequacy or disability in social skills, the math simply doesn't compute: if it had taken me 3 years to get used to J, why shouldn't I be given the same allowance for admitting another new comer?

Before then, I claim the asylum of the literal interpretation on “Love me, love my dog” – just dog, and dog only.