My phone rang at 11:20 last night, and it was my sister calling from my parents' house letting me know she was going to sleep in my bed, and asking if her dog could sleep in the bed with her. "Yeah, sure," I said. "I don't care."
"See!" she said. "I knew you wouldn't care, but Dad's all 'Absolutely not, rawr rawr rawr.'"
In the background I could hear my dad rawring. "She said no dogs in her bed, she said that before she left, she was very adamant about it. She doesn't even want the dog in her room, she told me to keep the door shut."
"Let me talk to Dad," I said.
"Here," she said.
"You said no dogs on your bed, you said that..."
"Aww, thanks for sticking up for me. That's so nice! But no really, it's fine. Just no bones on the bed, and wash the sheets after."
"Well, she's eating a bone right now, actually."
"Where? Not on my bed?!"
"No... Ok, she said no bones on the bed," he repeated.
"Of course not," I heard my sister say as if it hadn't already happened before, with grotesque results.
"I still can't believe you stuck up for me, Dad. I'm all warm inside, really. Thanks. Ok, let me talk to Becca."
He handed the phone over, still grumbling to himself.
"You found a job yet?"
"No. I was supposed to have an interview with this lady, and she told me to meet her by the escalators, but there were like, three escalators. I walked back and forth to all of them but I didn't see anyone fitting her description, and then people started looking at me."
"So... that's it."
"So, did you call her?"
"No, I checked through my phone and my e-mail but I couldn't find her information."
"Well... that's pretty weird, huh?"
"Yeah, it just like, disappeared. I don't know what happened."
"And where was this?"
"New Ed Hardy store in the mall."
"Right. I don't know, Becca, I just feel like you kind of give up really easy. I mean, didn't something like this happen before, too?"
"Yeah, it's probably cause I don't really care."
"Well... right. So anyway, did you at least go home and send her an e-mail explaining things?"
"No, I told you, I couldn't find any of her information."
"I don't understand. I mean, presumably you applied to this job somehow, right? And somehow heard something back in response?"
"Yeah, it's really a mystery. It's like someone goes in to my phone and my e-mail and deletes stuff."
"Um, yeah. So, did you search your e-mail?"
"You know you can search your Gmail, right?"
"No, I delete my e-mail after I read it."
It was at this point that I felt my head start to go a little throbby. "Wait... what?"
"I don't keep anything in my inbox. I like to keep things streamlined."
"But... but that defeats the whole purpose of Gmail!" I sputter. "There's like unlimited storage so you never have to delete anything. That's the whole point!!!"
"Yeah, I don't like the clutter."
"But no, no, you know what you do, right?"
"Nope, no, that's just the way I do things.."
"NO NO NO. Listen to me... no, stop talking, LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN!!!"
"Ok, so, after you read your e-mail what you do is you archive it. Voila! It's not in the inbox but it's still there when you need it. Do I really have to explain to you how Gmail works?"
"Yeah, I'm not going to archive anything. Then it's still there, cluttering things up."
"But... but NO! It's not still there! I mean it is still there but you never have to look at it again unless you want to, or unless you need to, like in situations like this."
"No, I just want to get rid of it. I don't want it hanging around."
"What, do you think the FBI is after you or something? I don't understand."
"It's just how I prefer to do things."
"You're just... you're... What is wrong with you??? You don't make sense, you're not even like a rational being, you're like a... goat! Yeah, that's it, you're like a goat that has somehow learned to speak and can sort of function in society, but really, you're still just a goat!"
[Muffled laughter on the other end]
"A goat applying for a job at Ed Hardy!"
"Yeah, I'm going to go," she says, still laughing.
"Tapping out e-mails with your little hooves..."
It took an hour for the vein in my head to stop throbbing. But seriously, what is it about family that can make you go from zero to coronary in seconds flat? Over something as stupid as e-mail? Anyone else in the world and I'd be like, Wow, what an idiot. Oh well. But when it's your family who's the idiot suddenly you're punching pillows and transcribing long, boring phone conversations on your blog for catharsis.
Oh, also, she's twenty-six. But anyway. I guess we're all taking the long way around. So maybe we are related after all.