465. Meetings

Never mind being in a time warp, I am going to go mad and end up in a loony bin. Even though that honestly sounds much more fun than the loony bin I go to everyday for 'work'. That word 'work' doesn't make any sense to me. It is more like a mad rush, running around chasing my tail and jumping up and down in frustration and wondering if it is me the problem or them. I am in that frame of mind mid-afternoon when I get home in a panic. 

'What's up?' My husband asks - yes he is home as working from home these days nut more about that later. Now this is about ME.

'I can't get to this meeting because I don't have the mail and the meeting is in 30 minutes and I have lost all my passwords and I haven't got a clue and anyway this is so stupid and their system is stupid and this meeting is stupid and and and stupid stupid stupid stuff. And I don't want to go to work for that meeting. I want to do it at home!'

I want to be wrapped up in my blanket with a cup of tea and if it gets very unbearable a glass of something stronger. 

My husband is unfazed as usual and takes me through the steps and explains that sometimes we have to just accept all the stupid stuff. Then he says:

'Do you need to be in that meeting? Probably not?'

'No, I don't. It's not going to help me but I want my name on the list of the participants.'

And it is quite cool to say to my kids don't bother me I am in a Visio conference and to see them tip-toeing around the house and passing by me and not asking me anything! It's unreal. 

So after a lot of ranting and raving and a little swearing, after having tried to log in on three different devices and with a multitude of passwords old and renewed I get the desired webpage!

'YAY.' I say sarcastically. My husband is poured of me.

'Well, you see, you can do it!'

I browse the page a little and try to locate the said-mail with the aforementioned link. No link. No mail that looks remotely as it fits the bill. Plenty of trade-union mails claiming they can help me and solve all my problems if I join, plenty of publishing houses promising me the only work I will ever do will be to press the copier button to the remote control of the projector (except in our our school they are screwed to the desks) but no mail with the link for the boring useless stupid meeting. I am in such a state my husband is ready to fix me a G&T. 

'It's got to be there. Got to. Just stay calm and read!'

He sounds like me when I teach. I am better than my students and so I read and see that the date is 2023, November! Then I notice the red line and the red warning. Your mail box has reached over 90% of its capacity bla bla bla. I look next to the tiny envelope icon and see a bug number: 2220 unread messages. O. M. G. 

'I have 2,220 unread messages.'

I know he is impressed. Not so long ago (before he quit his job) he would often tell me 176 mails this morning, 142 mails, 78 to go and so forth but never ever did he announce he had 2, 220! I am a little chuffed myself. I mean all these people wanting to communicate with me,  writing to me again and again and again. There must be something in that, some messages of importance, some deep and meaningful questions to which I can offer an educated reply. I stared at the screen and at the tiny red number, pride swelling in me.

'You have 10 minutes to delete them so that maybe you can get the link to your message.'

Delete them? Abandon all these exciting work relationships? Miss out on all this thrilling content? Give up on so many truthful friendships? No, I cannot let all that go.

'But you must! Or you'll never get your name on the list.'

And I won't be able to say I am in a Visio conference and the lids won't hush around me. 

So I delete one. And another one. Oh there is one about the flooding two years ago and was I concerned? I'm sure I had water in the cellar. Delete. Do I want to go and teach English to the inmates at the local prison? Delete. I can get five books about Shakespeare for the price of 4. Delete. The minister of education has a message for me. I check the name, that man is not minister of education anymore. Delete. And so on. After a while I wonder if I can delete them in a bunch. Of course I cannot, I can delete without opening (too depressing to see all the great stuff I missed out on) but only by ticking all the boxes one by one.

Meanwhile a friendly colleague sends me the link via WhatsApp, I think we should use WhatsApp all the time, all of us like a big great happy family.

Still I delete.

'Refresh the page!' My husband says. 

'You might have received some recent ones.'

I join the meeting and refresh. I can continue the deleting process (and the crying) while the meeting (more crying) goes on. 

I click on refresh and guess what the whole system crashes. A cute mini icon appears not he screen with a message. 

Ooops something seems to have gone wrong.

Indeed. And just when I was enjoying the delete process and seeing that I was down to 1, 756.