“I’m genuinely grateful for every opportunity to appear more approachable. It’s such a privilege to be reminded that tone can always be improved, even when it’s already perfect. Now, please, leave me alone.”
Veronika Kavendish-KnollEditor-in-Chief, Unsolicited Opinions
The Silent Menace of Shared Google Docs
The Fastest Way To Lose Respect For Others
It has come to my attention that I have upset some of the wonderful readers of this column. I have not been well since.
My assistant, ever so eager, shared a Google Doc with me: “not to worry but worth considering,” they said. It was anonymised, heavily edited, and reeked of both gnomes and semicolons. (See previous columns if you must.)
I genuinely feel for anyone who doesn’t understand the depths of punctuation or the havoc brought upon us by unsolicited opinions. But do you really need to write everything up in a Google Doc that never forgets?
Feedback (No Thanks)
The note began pleasantly enough:
“Lots of positives from our readers! They really appreciate your wit and distinctive voice. That said, would you consider softening the tone a little, creating more peaks and valleys, and maybe not driving at 180 miles per hour the whole time? A few readers mentioned they’d enjoy a touch more softness. Excellent work.”
AyhanAssistant, Unsolicited Opinions
Oh, how wonderful. Thank you for your feedback. It’s been a while since I’ve been served a shit sandwich so neatly wrapped in passive voice.
It pissed me off, of course.
I Shall Try to Be Softer
I told myself I’d try. I really did. I poured a cup of chamomile tea and sat down to reflect, to connect with my “inner empathy.” But then curiosity struck. I thought I’d just check the edit history. To see who these “concerned readers” were.
I clicked “Version History.”
Oh no. So many edits.
I Shan’t See Everything I Wasn’t Meant to See
The document was now twenty-five pages long. An essay dissecting my tone, speculating what I “might have meant,” and outlining possible “subtext.”
Excuse me. I thought I was perfectly clear.
Then I saw the author’s name. Tori. Rory’s partner from the previous article. Losing her composure because I had dared to be specific about their relationship.
And below that, comments. Pages of them. All resolved. Whole discussions about “my delusions,” “my projections,” and “my concerning lack of professional boundaries.”
Betrayed
And there he was: My assistant.
Apologising.
Kissing their well-exfoliated arses.
“We agree her tone can be improved.“
Eventually, they all agreed. My tone needs to change.
And here we are.
I Tried (and Failed)
So now, dear readers, dear Tori and Rory, I shall try to find softer words.
First, I must apologise for any inconvenience I’ve caused that has dimmed your radiant glow. I remember you asking me to write about your business. I thought I did rather well. It was balanced, insightful, even kind.
You could have simply told me you hated it.
Instead, you made a Google Doc.
I wish I hadn’t looked. I wish curiosity hadn’t won. But since it did, and since we are no longer friends, I might as well say it plainly:
You can eat your own gluten-free shit sandwich: the kind without any bread to hold it together.
By that I mean, I won’t wrap your fragile ideas between two compliments so they go down easier.
Enjoy your meal, and please, for everyone’s sake: stop being so boring, Tori and Rory.
