The Joy of Spam

Once in a while I delve into the bucket of dross that is the spam folder of my email account. Gmail is pretty good at catching this stuff, but I still feel the need to go in once in a while to check that no vital missives from NASA are stuck in there and can't get to me ( they will call, one day, and then yea verily, I shall save the Earth). Today, this gem:

Subject: cockroach dossier boris

Well, as far as spam goes, the subject line caught my eye. That is one magical title, the imagery, the mystery, the poetry of it, magnificent.

Turned out to be the usual offer for WALLIUM C1ALlS VlAGRRA of course, but frankly, as far as drugs go I prefer nicotine, caffeine and cocaine cut with baby powder and meringue dust.*

What a disappointment. And who the hell is Silas Huntley? Or Gilah Holt? Apparently someone thinks I know them, 'cos the email was addressed to them. These spam generators are getting artsy perhaps? Spam as literary art? Laudable.

*just kidding about the baby powder

Regrettable Conversations

I expect to be hit with some sort of sexual harassment lawsuit any day now.

Me: "Have you got those info sheets from last week?" Him from work: "Yup. Copies of 'em." Short pause. "I'll give you one." Me: "That'd be great! .......Hur hur hur."

And previously, aiming for some sort of group harassment charge:

Me: "Have you heard about Steak and Blowjob day? It's the masculine antidote to Valentine's day." Another, different him from work: "Great! So everyone should come round to yours later then." General laughter from gathered colleagues.
Me: "I'm not doing steak for that many people."

So, for the record, I swear I am innocent. I am merely victim to my total inability to think before I speak, leaving me to regret my words at a leisurely pace later on. You know that flesh creeping sensation as you remember what you said? Remembering the look on other people's faces? The expressions of disbelief?
They'll never get the charges to stick, right?

Mindless Tedium

You must have experienced that moment of self knowledge, when it becomes clear that all that is exciting, fresh and new is behind you. Never again will you feel the thrill of the new, the pounding heartbeat of life, the frenetic song of existence. Ahead is only drudgery, day melting into day, month into month, year after year, until finally, weak and exhausted by ennui, your life is snuffed out like an inconsequential tea light.

In other words, I had to get up at 6.30 this morning to go back to work after a week off. It's remarkable how a night of mild insomnia followed by an obscenely early shower can make you question the meaning of life. However, I am not alone. Apparently getting up too early can be bad for your health. I'm bringing it up at the next staff meeting, with the suggestion that I am allowed to start at 10 instead of 8. For my continued good mental health, of course.

Acceptance

What I wrote:

Dear Mrs Smooze,

Thank you for your invitation to Cooty and Pooter's wedding. We will be glad to accept, and look forward to joining you in celebrating the happy event.

Yours sincerely
La Receptionista


What I wish I wrote:

Dear Mrs Smooze,

Why did you send us an invitation to Cooty and Pooter's wedding? Thanks though, we'll be there with bells on. Or with nothing but a smile on, which'll make the photos more interesting.

I barely know Cooty, having only spoken to her with regards to cat-sitting, but I'm assuming she is a good soul, and that there will be at least one free drink on offer at the do. This is payback for the aforementioned cat-sitting.

I love you, Mrs Smooze, and cannot live any more without you. By the time you read this I'll be face down in a vat of spicy curry.

Yours sincerely, LR

PS. We'll always have Paris xxx