Ask a stupid question. No really, ask it.

My job requires that I keep in contact with many clients. Sometimes one particular company can contain literally hundreds of people I need to talk to. In order to do this I will occassionally resort to email.

The emails I send are about two sentences long and read something like this:

Dear Person’s Name,

Just wondering if you could use my goods/services for your goods/services. I’m always available to do x, y, or z. Let me know if I can help.

Andy

Occassionally some people get the email and they’re not supposed to, or they’ve switched to a different department. Such was the case with one particular woman who wrote back:

I am no longer doing X. Please take me off your list.

I did and then responded:

Done and done!

I didn’t get another response from her saying thanks or good luck or she’d pass my name along to the right people. Fine.

For some reason some people got the email twice. This woman was one of them, to which she responded (keep in mind, she didn’t respond to me removing her):

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Now, many of you know me to be a patient and caring man. You are all idiots and don’t know me very well. But since I can’t berate a client like I can a life-long friend or someone I hate but will never do business with, I had to respond nicely.

I suppose it’s possible person X may find this blog, but, I don’t really care. I think it would’ve been hilarious to write the following as my third response:

Dear Mrs. X,

I’m really sorry you got my email twice. I forgot about your debilitating bout with illiteracy and how long it takes you to read two sentences. This no doubt threw off your entire work-flow for the day, and caused you several hours of difficult “sounding-it-out,” embarassing you in front of your peers and superiors. I hope after a few years and some calming meditation you will be able to forgive me for this mentally assaulting, moronic oversight on my part. Tonight I plan on paying penance by cutting myself to the bone and carving your initials into my chest. Perhaps a prolonged hospital stay and the gigantic and hideous scar of your monogram over my heart will teach me my lesson.

Painstakingly yours,

Andy