Some Rules for Text Messaging

I only sent my first text message a few weeks ago. I am far from comfortable with it. I am still a little frightened by the sudden intrusion of someone else’s words on something I take out of my pocket, without any real warning. I suspect the feeling is akin to taking a Kleenex out of your pocket and suddenly discovering an image of the Virgin Mary. And you’re all, How’d that get there?

It takes me hours to compose a text message. Partially because I can’t convince myself that using overtly sloppy grammar, spelling shortcuts, or inadequate punctuation is anything but a slippery slope to hell itself. If, in fact, I could figure out how to integrate the judicious use of italics or footnotes in the text message format, I would probably do it.

Truly, I’m a novice. Far be it from me to expound on rules that should apply to the text messaging universe. And yet…

I received a text message tonight. (Or a text as the abbreviation-obsessed kids would say. And see how I employed that judicious use of italics right there? Ya can’t put a price on that kind of judiciousness.)

The text I received was of a reasonably serious nature concerning how my behavior adversely affects the emotional well being of the texter. Or at least that’s the best I can gather.

This sort of text should not be allowed.

Text messages should only involve one of the three following themes:
1. I just thought of something funny. (Hahahaha.)

2. I’m drunk. (Hahahaha.)

3. Let’s coordinate our plans. (Hahahaha.)

To text a serious message seems to me to be the communications equivalent of—say— trying to construct the Pentagon with a mound of damp tea cakes.

If you really have something to say, why would you choose such a frivolous medium?

That’s what I intend to ask Lola. Whenever I get up the energy to deal with someone who would so grievously misuse this woefully inadequate medium.

Last year, I was briefly romantically involved with Lola. This year, I am not. We used to work together at the Venerable Aerosol Cheese Factory. But we worked in wholly different departments and this should count toward lessening the degree to which I can be accused of being an idiot for violating the age old rule: Never slather your Triscuits with company cheese.

Whereas I was in the aerosol cheese production and distribution department, Lola was in aerosol cheese production system maintenance—a considerably less prestigious position, but as is typical of low prestige positions—much, much harder work.

Then she quit. Which was good for me but very bad for the operating efficiency of the aerosol cheese factory. So they finally got her to come back. Which is awkward for me. As my baseline behavior is awkward to begin with, additional degrees awkwardness taxes my functioning to its outer limits. I could not now be anymore awkward at work unless I also happened to be a newborn pony.

None of this story, incidentally, would not be appropriate for a text message. (“Incidentally” = “btw” for you texting kids out there.)

I have tried to maintain a warm but professional, friendly but not creepy, cheerful but not manic, demeanor with her. Apparently I am even less good at this than I am at texting.

At least that’s what I gather from her text message of: U dnt have to b like that 2 me.

Now how am I supposed to pick up on the nuances of this message in the incredibly nuance-free medium of the text message? There is no tone. No elaboration. In a medium where vowels are optional, subtext isn’t even a fleeting shadow.

So there ya go: I don’t have to be like that 2 her.

Like what? you ask. Why, like that, of course. Presumably, like me. And I would argue: Do so.

That would be, I think, a fine riposte via text message. But we both know if I do that there’ll be hell to pay. No doubt it will be further evidence for her that I’m being like that s’more. She won’t be able to gather from my response the implication that I’m more or less stuck with being me, despite her disapproval of that way that I am apparently being. And the reason she won’t be able to pick up on the implication of my response is because, of course, it would have been delivered via a text message. (Although to be honest, Lola and I could have re-enacted the Lincoln-Douglas debates and still been mostly unable to adequately convey our points to each other without burying ourselves in misinterpretions. Communication was never our strong suit.)

And now, God forbid, she should just dial the phone. (Which, I would note, takes way less time than composing a text message.)

So I'm stuck with either responding through a text message or telephoning her, thus elevating the medium and escalating the importance of the whole exchange. Does this exchange really deserve a promotion? What would it mean if I were the one to advance to a more direct medium? Would that imply that I remain invested in whatever is (or isn’t) going on between us? Should I just recklessly hop in a car and drive to her home? Stand outside her window with a boombox held high over my head, all John Hughes movie-style?

Ummm…no. It looks like rain.

Instead I’ll draw upon another of my new rules for text messaging: If she doesn't actually ask a question, I don’t have to answer. (Hahahaha.)