Anything You Want

A real person, a lot like you

My friend Sara has run a smal online business out of her living room for twelve

years. It's her whole life. She takes it very, very personal y.

Last week, one of her clients sent her a ten-page-long scathing email, chopping

her down, cal ing her a scam artist and issuing other vicious personal insults, and

saying she was going to sue Sara for everything she's worth as retribution for the

client's mishandled account.

Devastated, Sara turned off her computer and cried. She shut off the phones and

closed up shop for the day. She spent the whole weekend in bed wondering if she

should just give up. Thinking maybe every insult in this client's letter was true,

and she's actual y no good at what she does, even after twelve years.

On Sunday, she spent about five hours—most of the day—careful y addressing

every  point  in  this  ten-page  email;  then  she  went  through  the  client's  website,

learning everything about her, and offered al kinds of advice, suggestions, and

connections.  Sara  refunded  the  client's  money,  plus  an  additional  $50,  with

gushing deep apologies for ever having upset someone she was honestly trying

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to help.

The next day, she cal ed the client to try to talk through the situation with her.

The client cheerful y took her cal and said, “Oh, don't worry about it! I wasn't

actual y that upset. I was just in a bad mood, and didn't think anyone would read

my email anyway.”

My friend Valerie was using an online dating service.

She was half-hearted about it. She wanted a magic perfect man to sweep her off

her feet through divine serendipity.

We were at her computer when I asked her how it's going. She logged into her

account  and  showed  me  her  inbox.  There  were  eight  new  messages,  each  one

wel written, saying what the man liked about her profile, how they have a mutual

interest  in  hiking,  or  that  he  also  speaks  German,  and  asking  her  if  she's  also

been to Berlin, or has hiked in New Zealand.

I felt for those guys, each one pouring out his heart, projecting his hopes onto

Valerie, hoping she'l reply with equal enthusiasm, hoping she might be the one

who wil final y see and appreciate him.

She  said,  “Ugh.  Losers.  I  get  like  ten  of  these  a  day.”  Then  she  deleted  al  of

them, without replying.

When  we  yel  at  our  car  or  our  coffee  machine,  it's  fine  because  they're  just

mechanical appliances.

So when we yel at a website or a company, using our computer or our phone, we

forget that it's not an appliance but a person that's affected.

It's  dehumanizing  to  have  thousands  of  people  passing  through  our  computer

screens, so we do things we'd never do if those people were sitting next to us.

It's too overwhelming to remember that at the end of every computer is a real

person, a lot like you, whose birthday was last week, who has three best friends

but nobody to spoon at night, and who is personal y affected by what you say.

Even  if  you  remember  it  right  now,  wil  you  remember  it  next  time  you're

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overwhelmed, or perhaps never forget it again?