It's Hard To Say It... I Had To Say It... Alternate Title: The curse of a gmail ID. Once upon a time... Long long ago and all that, getting a gmail invite used to be a big thing; getting to register your first name used to be even bigger (For me at least).
Back to the future, it isn't all that great. Not when you get at least 3 mails on a daily average (Without any exaggeration, really) meant for dozens of your namesakes (Never thought I'd use the word in the plural, but then again, what do I know) in the world from idiots who refuse to check the ID they're sending the mail to. In defense of my namesakes, I'm glad we share a name. I have nothing against you; but I hope you understand that it gets a tad tiring after a while, reading mails asking me to comment on the girl some creep (Who knows!) is planning to wed or answer why I wasn't present at their son's Christening. (Which, frankly, is quite a touchy topic for me by now).
Focussing, on the positives, the ID and I have seen good times too. It has given me more than its fair share of entertainment. It even gave me a very nice acquaintance whom I'm still in touch with. (But she was an exception). Of late, this has only caused strife. Even the entertainment quality of pics has declined considerably.
I had been doing the responsible thing till now, mailing them back and informing them as politely as I can of the mistaken identity. But that has got to change. I have finally reached my saturation point. No more Ms. I'm-sorry-but-you-have-the-wrong-ID.
I shall now stoop down to pretending to be the real recipient. Say Hello to Ms. will-the-real-slim-shady-please-stand-up.
(Argh, I hate rap) But then again, can't really help it. Virtue needs some cheaper thrills, as a wise man once said.
pleiades
Current Mood:
devious
Current Music: It's Probably Me - Sting & Eric Clapton