Do any of you follow someone on twitter who’s kind of an a-hole? I follow a mega a-hole. You’re probably wondering why I follow this person if he/she is such an a-hole, but you’ll have to wait until the end of the post to find out the answer.
From this point on, I will refer to said a-hole as Shannon, since Shannon is an androgynous name, and I don’t want to reveal this person’s sex. Although, let’s face it, Shannon’s totally a girl’s name—sorry, guys named Shannon. (Also, I will say “she” instead of “it” or “he/she.”)
Shannon is an arrogant writer who enjoys tearing apart other authors on Twitter—nobody’s as talented as Shannon. Did I mention she’s a genius, too? ‘Cause she is. Her egotistical tweets really get under my skin. When I read one, my eyes start to roll, but I stop them because a 30-something year-old woman shouldn’t roll her eyes. Sometimes I even mumble, “Jerk,” or some other mild insult. I move on and try not to let Shannon’s uncomplimentary tweet bug me. But then it happens: I think of a great comeback—one that’s kind of cutting but funny at the same time.
Hmm. . .to tweet or not to tweet.
If I send Shannon that great comeback, I’m in for a Twitter fight. Do I really want to brawl with Shannon? The feisty Stephanie says, “Yes! Crush her!” But the level-headed Stephanie says, “You’re above that. Think it through.” So I play out the confrontation in my mind, and it goes down like this. . .
Shannon receives my tweet and gets pissed—because arrogant people can’t handle criticism. So she tweets me a nasty response, using big words to try to make me feel dumb. But I’m not intimidated. Google was invented for situations like this—when I need to appear smarter than I am. After I decipher Shannon’s tweet using the power of the internet, another comeback pops into my mind. This one’s even better than the first. It’s so amazing that I’m pretty sure Jesus Himself put it there. I snicker, give myself a high-five, and send off my inspired reply. Shannon doesn’t know how to respond. After several hours of radio silence, I know that I’ve won—of course. My pride swells until it overpowers my better judgment, and I can’t help but tweet, “In your face, Shannon. In. You’re. Face.” My tweet appears on the Twitter feed, and I grin as I read it once more: “In your face, Shannon. In. You’re. Face.” Oh crap! I used “you’re” instead of “your.” I might as well scribble MORON on my forehead in permanent marker. I scream at my computer, “NO!!!!!” and frantically delete the tweet. But it’s too late. Shannon has the Twitter app on her iPhone, and once you send someone a tweet, it stays on that person’s iPhone for hours. Shannon retweets my grammatically incorrect response, pointing out how stupid I am to her slew of followers. Before I can attempt to salvage my reputation, Shannon blocks me so I can’t respond. But wait. I don’t want Shannon to block me, because for some strange reason I like being irritated by her tweets—and secretly I want Shannon to like me. I end up driving to In-N-Out and ordering two double-doubles animal style. Then I stop at the grocery store and pick up some Ben & Jerry’s. I go home, put on a moo moo, turn on “Steel Magnolias,” and stuff my face. But I don’t cry.
This is why I don’t tweet Shannon. I just observe in silence. Because once something’s out there, it’s out there. And although I have strong opinions, they are better kept off of Twitter—usually.
(Side note: In order to protect Shannon’s identity, I unfollowed her. Even though I enjoyed her aggravating tweets, I decided I didn’t want to chance someone rifling through the list of people I follow and figuring out who she is—as you can tell, I suffer from paranoia.)