Tempers run short at the end of the year. I should know not to take on another project on top of exams, organizational tasks and the odd letter from parents pleading with me to give their wayward daughter another shot at passing my course.
But I really thought that e-mailing a group of teachers about a new product opportunity, designed by one of my good friends, would be simple. Take orders. Collect money. Write one big check. Feel good about helping my friend and giving the manufacturer some business. Easy, right?
Wrong. In 24 hours since the original offer, I have gotten e-mails from almost a dozen teachers who obviously didn’t read it. They want to know what size they should get. (There are two sizes. How in the world should I know which would work better for you?) Where should they send the check? How long do they have to decide? What kind of material is it? And how does Paypal work? ALL questions I already answered, except the last one, which is utterly ridiculous. Why not just ask me how the Internet works?
After a year of answering questions like this (What page did you say we were on? When is this due? Do we have to write in complete sentences?) I have had it up to here with people who don’t listen, don’t problem-solve on their own, and expect me to do both for them. My patience and compassion reserves are drained. I have chosen to not respond to these messages at all, rather than to unleash the torrent of my wrath that would surely follow.
On days like this I love to read Dr. Grumpy’s rants. His stories always make mine look downright reasonable.