TL;DR: Death metal, lambs and deletions- a chornic texter’s survival kit.
I am a ham-fisted adult.I've made peace with that. On bad days, I am absent-minded. On good days, I am a little less absent-minded.
My hand-eye coordination, or the lack of it, can provide sufficient fodder for slapstick gags across silent comedies. I trip on flat surfaces, I regularly press wrong buttons on the elevator pad, I nick myself industriously with razors, and I am a thrill to have around if you let slip a secret around me. I am almost always too distracted to notice.
I can afford myself broad, physical comedy but social gaffes can't be excused-the ones that stem from what I have clumsily labelled the 'Internet Of Texting'.
Remember, it is a vicious web. A typo or an auto-correct horror can travel like wildfire through screenshots. Before you know it, all saboteurs are in cahoots with each other and you transform into a laughing stock.
For example, you absent-mindedly type in the wrong letter of the Alphabet. Case in point: Once, I had to wish an elderly person right before an important meeting, and I typed out a hurried 'best-of-luck', except an ''f'' went out instead of an ''l''.
It wasn't pleasant at all.
Thankfully, the gentleman in question wasn't well-versed in millennial sabotage. Neither was a screenshot taken nor was it circulated. At least that is what I would like to believe.
That was the day I came up with a rough guide of sorts- to help the chronic texter in me avoid embarrassing blunders.
Screenshots, up until then, were my perfect downfall. Chatting with more than two people at once is always a risky affair.
On one such occassion, I was chatting with an acquaintance and two of my friends at the same time. To make things worse, my friends and I were talking about that very acquaintance. One of them described him as a ''skunk's fa*t'' with much relish.
Upon receiving her message, I rushed to take a screenshot and share it with the other friend. But... lo and behold! In a rush, I sent HIM the screenshot that reeked of my impending doom. Panicking wildly and noisily, I rushed to make amends. But (as an encore) I typed out ''This was frank'', missing out an ''a'', and placing an ''f'' instead of a ''p''in the word ''frank''.
No drumrolls, please.
I have lost many a fine conversation to the fine-tuned nemesis that calls itself Autocorrect. 'Tips' have transfigured to 't*ts', 'decorating' has changed itself to 'defecation' and 'meeting' has gone out as 'beating'. And I have, invariably, realized my errors when the messages couldn’t be deleted anymore.
But, no more...
When you’re living in a head such as mine, you need to chase your absent-minded instincts out like a starved piranha chasing a deer.
1) Counting up to ten lambs in my head before sending out something always helps me. I am brought back from my vacant daze to a task that requires attention on my part. By the sixth lamb, I have snapped out of my self-induced funk, ready to send out a correct text or screenshot.
2) I can swear by Death metal when it comes to shaking me out of a stupor. Before sending out important work emails or texts, I stick by hair-raising, blood-curdling songs that would raise any man from his grave. 'Angel of Death' and 'Raining Blood' are good starter packs to ease you into the exercise.
3) On principle, I delete all screenshots once they've served their purpose. One should never undermine the potential of a stored screenshot in one's gallery. I am convinced it can think for itself and it is just waiting to get me, waiting to be forwarded to a wrong chat box.
4) I check what I’ve sent on WhatsApp soon enough to be able to delete it. The deletion raises quite a few curious eyebrows, but it is way better than making a royal fool out of myself.
If you too are distracted all the time and your hand-crafted thoughts are placed carefully on an assembly belt that goes round and round, buzzing ferociously till you feel woozy in the head, try out the not-so-brilliant three pointers by yours truly.
If that doesn't work either, there is just one option left. The last, most terrible resort:
5 neat shots of the blackest coffee you can lay your hands on.
Bottom Line: Remember, better to be safe than painfully sorry!
(The above is a part of TLDR (Too Long. Didn't Read), a weekly blog that aims to crunch things down for you. I will give you the long and short of most things that need to be taken extremely seriously like your bookshelf, beer, existential dread, aimless conversations, rainy days and bubble-wrap. I promise to cater to all readers, but I brazenly harbour a soft-spot for skimmers, bathroom-readers and infinite scrollers. Now, let's bring the written word back!
P.S: Follow me @medhac1)
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