It
seems like an awfully complicated process for what should be a
simple enough task, deleting something.
I
mean, seriously, isn’t heading to the inbox and deleting something
enough of a demonstration of intent? So why the heck after going
to the deleted items to delete it a second time then move it over
to another bin to be held for 30 days? Or whatever.
Inbox
to deleted to still around for recovery. I just want to get rid
of the mail I didn’t request but that company I ordered a spiral-bound
ham from seven months ago seems to believe I need to know.
Now
look, the ham company makes a great tasting product and sends
me some pretty sweet coupons around the holidays. I’m not complaining
that they think I want to add some assortment to my grilling options
for the summer. My friends weren’t complaining when I sent them
their own ham for the holidays. Similar reasoning, I get why the
home décor company and two clothing companies and so on
are sending stuff my way. I may not be that interested, but there
they are. And on more than one occasion, just before I deleted
things, Terry asked me if I had any coupons because she had an
order to place. So, sure. The receipt of them is fine.
What
gets me is how crazy the options get when I want to get moving
along with a seemingly easy process.
I
don’t want the e-mail, so, delete. I’m then willing to confirm
I didn’t delete it by accident by deleting it from the deleted
items folder. And then it gets moved into a folder of twice deleted
items that I didn’t initially even know existed. I clean out the
deleted items folder, the batch gets sent for a period of time
into a recovery folder where they’ll eventually be purged, but
hang out just in case.
There
are folks that will tell you that the recovery folder has saved
them. That a day or two after deleting something, it turned out
there was an item they needed, and having it tucked away in a
recovery folder was a deep breath and prayers answered relief.
I
don’t buy that.
Isn’t
that what the deleted items folder is? It’s a place for trash
to go so you have an opportunity for an “Are you sure?” second
chance. That makes the recovery folder an “Are you sure you’re
sure?” third chance.
I’m
not sure why this deleting of e-mails process bothers me. Having
accidentally hit buttons on my remote more often than I care to
admit, when that warning comes up on the screen to ask if I really
want to purchase the movie I’m grateful for one more step in the
process so I can say no I do not.
Truth
be told, I haven’t been able to find out why this second layer
is there. I don’t know if it’s been a part of software all along,
or if it’s something only a few have added in. Maybe customer
suggestions and comments and panic led to its creation. And, fair
enough, if you want to go digging in your options, there usually
are ways to disable just about every option that bothers you.
I
guess part of it for me is that technology concept we’ve all been
exposed to that says nothing we do or post or such is ever really
gone. Put something on the web, deleted it less than fifteen seconds
later, and it doesn’t matter… once it’s there, it’s there forever.
It seems to make the idea of needing a backup to a backup more
than a repetitive redundancy. In a world where I’m unable to erase
anything, I’m being given extra steps to delete everything.
Sometime
in the next few weeks, I’ll be visiting my parents. (Love you,
guys. See you soon!) And during that visit, on pretty much every
day, we’ll finalize plans for meals and activities. Then, about
an hour after we decide, my mother will ask us again. And she’s
likely to ask us again after that.
The
scenario for why she asks changes. But at the center of it, she
just wants all of us to be happy. She doesn’t want to not ask
us one more time, then find out someone wanted to head to the
beach for chowder rather than ordering take out Chinese.
It’s
sweet. She loves us all and wants us getting what we’d like to
have. Amazing lady. And, as all of us that have had someone around
asking about dinner a few times after the destination was decided
will understand, it’s wonderfully sweet and more than a bit frustrating.
I
want to delete it. And I want to confirm that I deleted it. I
don’t want to climb the stairs, walk out onto the board, and bounce
into the air to deliver a double-delete, full swan, toe touch,
half-twist, triple flip.
(Until
it’s something important. When the day comes that I deleted it
and need it back, I’ll probably still think it’s dumb, but I’ll
be very grateful it’s there. And now, I’ve got to make some plans
that involve visiting my parents for several days, because I want
to make sure we head out for chowder and egg rolls during my trip.)