How your email really found me

It sure didn’t find me “well,” you asshole

PHOTO: Gudrun Wai-Gunnarsson / The Peak

By: Dev Petrovic, Staff Writer

Out of all the horrible things that occurred during 2020, there’s one thing that’s been neglected in the 2020 slander: the pity emails. 

Now, I don’t just mean any regular ol’ pity emails. I mean that one particular statement in every email — so offensive and poor in taste that I can’t just ignore it. I am referring to the notorious “I hope this email finds you well.” 

Allow me to explain how “this email finds me,” President and Vice Chancellor Joy Johnson. First of all, it’s a miracle that the email has even found me. I am hidden within a labyrinth of 400 unopened emails, Cheeto-stained fingers, and destroyed aspirations. You know I was finally going to get myself into “good academic standing”? Finally get laid in the avocado? Spot Andrew Petter in real life to prove to myself that he actually exists?

I can assure you that this email — one of the many emphasizing the need for support, school pride, something about equity (or was it about that Scottish dog? It doesn’t matter.) — found me with a smirk of contempt on my face and tears in my eyes reflecting its words as I watch compilations of couples smiling on Instagram. I. Am. Not. Well.

Joy says “we’re all in this together” or whatever, but I don’t see her bringing me snacks when I’ve hotboxed my overpriced 50 sqft basement suite. 

Yet, I read on. This is all a product of my own self-reassurance. I’m holding onto the single aspect of remote learning that still ties me to an SFU student identity: pointing and laughing at SFU-wide emails. Believe me, if I did not pity myself so much, I would be fighting this identity crisis instead of writing this. 

How could this email possibly find me “well” Ms. President? Have you been outside lately? Because I haven’t. It’s been weeks, probably months. For all I know, there could be a flock of angry crows waiting outside my front door — or my landlord (gasp)! You want to know exactly how this email finds me? I am surrounded by walls of scratched up wallpaper, tallies covering my walls, counting the days since I’ve been permitted to finish off strangers’ leftover drinks at a bar. Sigh.

How dare you mock me like that? How dare you wish me the best “during these troubling times”? Is your sympathy supposed to fix my failing grades, broken relationships, or my clogged toilet? What about my Neopets dying? Can you bring the Webkinz website back to life? That’s what would be the best.

The only way to alleviate the frustration induced by this mockery is to respond to these emails. Therefore, I have set up an automated response to all Joy Johnson emails, stating exactly how I feel. This is how it reads:

“Dearest President Joy Johnson, 

Screw you and your beautiful haircut. It’s so cool that you’re gay, but please stop wishing the best for me. You don’t even know me! Also, this email finds me very badly! Did I mention that I find these emails annoying? Please stop reminding me that I haven’t been in school for the past five years. 

Thanks, maybe an SFU student.”