They’re the bane of most people’s existence and yet we all use them out of necessity. No, not condoms. Although that does make sense. I’m talking about single-word text messages. They’re the most infuriating type of message to be on the receiving end of, with the exception of a passive-aggressive breakup text. They’re short and they’re annoying, but the good thing is that each one has a subtle, not-so-short meaning behind it which can tell you a lot about what the other person is trying to say.
“I’ve gotten all the information I need in this conversation and you can kindly fuck off now. In the future, if you’d like to keep my attention, please adhere to a strict policy of conversation topics. These include sex, drugs, rock and roll, Cocoa Puffs, sports trades, pictures of dogs, invitations to get drunk, and celebrity divorces where the woman in question is someone I’m in love with. If you continue to provide me with useless information like directions to your apartment or an announcement of what time your plane lands, I will continue to say…k.”
“This is a hard end to our conversation. I could have waxed poetic and drawn it slowly to a close, but I’m fucking tired, so go away. Also, I have no desire to have sex with you ever, because I clearly would have put more sincerity into my final message to you if I did…unless we’ve been dating for a while, in which case you knew what you were getting into. So, quit complaining. Also, I’m not really going to bed; I’m probably gonna keep getting drunk and watching Cops until I pass out.”
“I’m inquiring about your availability, not because I really, really, really want to hang out with you; I’m just super bored and I probably sent this to five other people in a lazy attempt to find something to do to amuse myself. So you should probably know that you have now entered into an entertainment Hunger Games with several other people whose identities you don’t know, with the sole goal of said Games to persuade me that whatever activity you’re currently participating in is the one that I should make my way over to. If you know me well enough, then you probably realize that’s just a matter of convincing me that you have the best food.”
“I asked you a question ten minutes ago and YOU HAVEN’T FUCKING RESPONDED YET. What’s wrong with you? Seriously. Are we friends or am I just here for when it’s convenient for you? Do you wanna hang out or not? Because I have lots of options, my friend. Lots of damn options. I’ve got people banging down my door demanding to hang out with me 24/7. Why? Because I’m a delightful person to be around, that’s fucking why. And here you are, just blatantly not responding to me like you’re better than me. If you think I’m sitting around with no pants on, binge watching Netflix and scarfing down week-old donuts that I put in the microwave to rationalize eating, you’re either dead wrong or you need to quit hiding in my closet.”
“That last thing was quite amusing. Actually, not really. It was mediocre and not clever at best. However, I have enough invested in our interpersonal relationship that I feel an obligation to lie to you that your joke was funny, but I’m not so committed as to go overboard and say ‘hahaha’, which is the true written form of actual laughter. Hell, I didn’t even feel obligated to say anything that could be construed as an actual response to what you said, mostly because I’m really worried that if I encourage your shitty sense of humor too much, I’ll be putting up with your bad puns and excessively long stories for the rest of my stupid life.”
“I can’t believe you just fucking said that. It’s so insulting to my experience as a human being that I don’t have the words for it. I mean, I’ve said some shit in my day, but that crossed the damn line. Now, obviously I don’t have the inner presence of courage that would allow me to actually call you out on what you just said. I mean, maybe I’m reading it out of context. Maybe I just need to see where you’re coming from. Or maybe I only have enough balls to send you a series of punctuation marks and just see where it leads.”
“I’m into you. Like, in a Nicholas Sparks kind of way. Ok fine, who am I kidding? If there’s no God after midnight, then there’s definitely no Nicholas Sparks at 2 A.M., ten drinks deep. I straight up would like to put a part of my body inside of your body. Could be a finger, could be my penis, who knows? Let’s not commit to anything, right? Anyway, if you’re down, all you really have to do is respond. This is romance.”