Chapter 1: First steps, baby steps

3. That time with the message server

One day, I had one of my greatest computer lessons that I still cherish to date. Oh, what a nightmarish moment that was. I’d had my fair share of dealing with frustrating users from hell, and after a particularly maddening interaction, I was feeling a bit more snarky than usual. It was the umpteenth time I’d had to explain the same super easy and documented procedure to the same user, and patience had worn thin. Without thinking, I composed an email that was both condescending and scolding, outlining the solution in the harshest tones I could muster. A classic RTFM message.

I hit the send button, thinking that it would finally get the message across. Little did I know that I had set myself up for a truly cringe-worthy situation. As I closed my email client and leaned back in my chair, I got a reply of the message from a guy who was definitely not the intended recipient! My heart sank as I realized what had happened.

With a sense of impending doom, I opened the email and scrolled right, into a hidden part of the message to check the recipients. My laziness had me copy an old email with the procedure that was originally sent to…well… everyone this side of the ocean! I had inadvertently sent my scathing email to all the pharmaceutical representatives in Europe. Every. single. one. of. them.

My desk, which had been a place of tech gadgets and quirky humor, suddenly felt like the scene of a disaster. Panic set in as I realized the implications of my mistake.

There were dozens of people across Europe who would receive an unsolicited message from me, their tech support contact, that was nothing short of embarrassing as it was clear I was scolding one specific user.

But, hey, this was the 90s and the email was still not mainstream. This meant that the users would have to dial into the server in order to download the message, but until then, I could still delete it from the server mailboxes. I had to act quickly. This was to date the most daunting task of all: manually deleting each and every offending message from each user directory of the server. It was a long and grueling night, typing away through countless messages, feeling the weight of each delete command as I tried to erase my unfortunate blunder. It was a painstaking process, and I couldn’t help but cringe with every click.

As the sun began to rise, I finally cleared the last of the emails from the server and sent out an apology email to those 5 users who did receive the message. The damage control was complete, but my pride was still in tatters. From that point on, I vowed to be extra cautious with my messages, rereading them at least ten times before hitting the send button. The fear of making the same mistake again loomed over me like a dark cloud, and still does!

My colleagues, those who had often joined me in light-hearted banter and sarcastic responses to absurd user queries, were surprisingly supportive. They understood that we all had our moments of frustration, and they offered their own stories of email mishaps to make me feel a little less foolish.

In the end, my unintentional message blunder served as a humbling reminder that no matter how experienced and knowledgeable we are in the world of tech, we’re all capable of making mistakes. It was a lesson in humility, professionalism, and the importance of treating every user with respect, no matter how challenging they might be. And it was a lesson I carried with me throughout my career, ensuring that my interactions with users were always marked by patience, empathy, and the utmost professionalism.

From that day forward, I learned to find more constructive ways to deal with frustrating user interactions, channeling my sarcastic wit into helpful and informative responses. I had come to understand that tech support wasn’t just about fixing technical issues; it was also about providing excellent customer service and ensuring that users left every interaction feeling valued and understood.

My colleagues and I continued to share stories and laughs, but the tone of our responses had evolved. We remained a team of tech enthusiasts who embraced our quirks and humor, but we also made sure that our interactions with users were always positive and helpful, no matter how challenging the situation. We channeled our goliardic strive towards ourselves: the screenshot pranck is just an example. And as for that fateful message incident, it remained a cautionary tale, a reminder to always double and triple-check before hitting the send button. It had been a painful experience, but it had also made me a better, more empathetic tech support representative. In the end, it was a lesson well learned in the world of tech support, in a time when the internet was still finding its way in Europe, and we were considered proper gurus for just being able to switch on a computer and understand the boot sequence.

Scary moment: you send an email with condescending and partly scolding instructions (for the umpteenth time) to the same user without realizing that in a hidden cc windows it is copied to all the reps of Europe. You spend the night manually deleting each message from the server and from then on you will reread your emails 10 times before hitting the send button.