Today, I finally looked myself in the mirror, took a deep breath, and admitted what you've known all along -- I can't stand not having the last word.
I'll spare you the long, drawn-out, work-related story that led to my having this revelation. I'm pretty sure that you don't want to hear the details of the completely ridiculous administrative process that was being forced down my throat and my Quixotic attempt to fight back. And, as entertaining as I'm sure you'd find them, I'm certain you don't want to see the long trail of e-mails that went back-and-forth all day as I continued to push back against the "man." Instead, I'll leave you with my last act of the work day.
Just after 7PM, I drafted one final rebuttal to the longest and most frustrating e-mail string known to man. I re-read my missive with smug and absolute satisfaction. "It's perfect," I said to myself. Why shouldn't it be? I'd had a full day to stew on things, pick apart the flaws in the argument of my foes, and organize my defense. Now, I was ready. My logic was brilliant. My choice of words was perfect. Victory was imminent. All that was left to do was to hit "Send" and then log-off for the day in triumph.
Then it hit me. What, exactly, would I be winning? There wasn't going to be a trophy. And, how many times have I told people to pick up the phone and talk to their colleagues rather than rely on e-mail? How many times have I read someone's snide e-mail and cursed them out from one thousand miles away? Just today alone, the answer to that was close to a dozen.
So, instead of hitting "Send," I hit "Delete." I told myself that I wasn't giving up -- I was giving in. And, you know what? It actually felt pretty good. We'll see how I feel tomorrow.
This is where the magic happens.
