Best, A Tired Senior

Good day, children.

The recipients of my e-mails know more about me than the government does.

That is because each sign-off is a paragraph of its own, detailing much more than my specific role in life and relation to the recipient. You can’t say “Thank you!” in response to a teacher without subscribing to this violating choreography: Best, [Name] ([Grade], [Age], [Class Shared], [Period of Class Shared], [Net Worth], [Resume Attachment To Prove You Are Worthy of a Response], [Number of Sentences Spoken in Aforementioned Class], [Social Security Number], [Favorite Color]).” They continuously get more personal!

It doesn’t even matter if you know this person or not. Last week, I e-mailed a faceless middleman hoping to recover a lost item on the LIRR. Yet, the majority of this e-mail did not explain my predicament; the largest chunk of text was a rigorous summary of my identity and character in the form of those godforsaken sign-offs. There I was, already deeply traumatized by the loss of my merchandise, attempting to garner the sympathy of an MTA worker, yet my mind was further burdened by the gymnastics of it all. Shall I sign off with “Thanks?” No, that is too curt. “Thank you!”? Absolutely not, my mother raised me better. “Hope to hear from you soon” was just too chipper in conjunction with the “Good day, MTA!” greeting.

You can’t write “Best” anymore, either. What are you, a tryhard? A corporate scumbag? I suppose “Love” will have to do.

Yet even my extensive e-mail etiquette pales in comparison to the resolve of Stuyvesant freshmen. I am a Big Sib who recently received this lovely correspondence from one of these children in our redundantly etiquette-leaning world:

“Excellent morning Your Highness,

I am [FULL NAME REDACTED], the second son of [FATHER’S NAME], wearer of anime merch shirts and the Stuyvesant P.E. uniform in the hallways. I hope not to have disturbed thy peaceful presence with my shameful typing, but I feel compelled to inquire as to where I may pick up another P.E. uniform. You see, I truly wish not to bother you, for my mandatory pre-e-mail research told me that you may be busy at this hour enjoying dinner with your mother and one sibling (unless you have strayed from your regular, how’s the chicken?). I simply need this uniform to avoid negative interactions with the Physical Education department.

Many thanks for your God-blessed response in advance,

[NAME REDACTED] (Freshman, 14, Homeroom 1αθΣςඞ, Passing Periods on A1 Days, Net Worth of $5, Have Spoken to You Thrice Before, 2273817392, Magenta).

P.S. My resume is attached below.”

I predict that we will soon be standardizing MLA format in all correspondence with a minimum of two paragraphs. In the meantime, I refuse to subscribe to this meaningless dance of feigned sophistication.

Congrats, you can read,

Eshaal (Human Being).

P.S. I have attached a panda meme for your viewing pleasure and to prove my personal sense of humor. If you can’t see it, please update your e-mail browser.