Friday, January 10, 2014

Three illicit emails my sister won't let me send her friend, who works at a bank.

The contents of my email and text account for the past couple of months would probably frighten people who didn't otherwise know I was (at least, on the surface) a sane individual. Heck, I think the contents sometimes frightens my own husband. Phrases that have appeared in my communication recently include "prostitute cookies," "swiss army knife toes," "Jabberwocky blood charms," "chicken-wing savior," and "chicken-fried-brains." And those are just the ones I feel comfortable sharing on this blog (and, worth noting, those were all during exchanges with a single person.)

Yesterday, my sister announced via Facebook that she would be taking a day off work. Her friend, who I know on Facebook but not in real life, bemoaned the lack of entertaining emails she would be receiving at work, as my sister would be lazing away and not industriously sending Internet memes or whatever they count as entertaining email. I stated that I had an email address, and this person took me up on that offer. Even though she was warned (see prostitute cookies above).

Last night, I asked my sister via FB messenger if her friend's work had email filters. I wanted to be prepared with sneakiness in order to bypass filters that might catch sexy words like "drug cartel." (Also, see prostitute cookies above). Yes, my sister informed me, her friend's work does use email filters. In fact, her friend works for a bank, so would I please not get her friend in trouble or arrested?

 So, I proceeded to test out my entertaining emails on my sister. She vetoed three before finally giving half-hearted approval on one.

Rejected Email 1 - The Office Space Scheme

Hi, M. Remember when we were talking about how you could siphon a few cents from every account like they did in that movie with Rachel from Friends? Except, we don't have a weird guy with a stapler fetish to worry about, so we'll totally be more successful. How soon do you think you could make that happen? And, also, you can route those funds to a PayPal account, right?

Rejected Email 2 - "I'm asking for a friend. Or. . . for a story. It's fiction. Really."

Dear M,
I'm sure my sister has conveyed that I am a writer of le fiction. As such, I am interested in bank vaults. For a story I am writing. It's about a fairy. The fairy is in league with the mob, who are elves, of course. The fairy works in a bank. Her name starts with M. Her contact in the elvish mob has a name that starts with an SAR. . .Anyway, names probably aren't important at this point.

What I'm looking for is specs on bank vaults. Or blue prints. Or, you know, instructions for opening them. Maybe I could tour your vaults? At night, after closing time, if possible. That's when my story takes place. Research is important. Stories have to be realistic. Even fairy stories.

Rejected Email 3- The one with a gun

Meet me at the back of your building at exactly 1:14 p.m. I have the gun you require for the 3:00 p.m. job. Be on time.

AND, the email that won approval (especially since, apparently, M. has an issue with feet):

Dear Ms. V:
I would like to make a complaint against your establishment. I was in your place of business yesterday and it smelled like feet. And Jabberwocky. I cannot abide the scent of Jabberwocky.

You really should do a better job of cleaning up around there. Especially with all that money. No one wants money scented with Jabberwocky musk or sweaty toes. In fact, I would like to return the money I procured yesterday for fresh money.

I would like clean, laundered money without a trace of Jabberwocky slobber or toe nails. I especially do not want to see little flakes on my twenties that could possibly be the scrapings of dead heel skin or shavings of old-people corns.

I would appreciate if you would personally oversee the withdrawal of my funds and ensure that none of your employees rub my money with their feet. I understand people have certain fetishes, but they really should be leaving that stuff at home.


According to an email I received mid-morning today, M. opened this upon arriving at work. Before coffee or breakfast. She didn't, at first, realize this was the "entertainment" she asked for. I think those three seconds before she realized a crazy customer wasn't writing her about Jabberwockies and feet are the funniest part of this entire episode.

And this is why I can't have nice email addresses.


  1. Oh my...I have a couple of friends at Wells Fargo. I'm so tempted...Heehee!!

    1. My sister constantly tells me the NSA, the DEA, or someone is going to pick me up. I constantly tell her "they don't arrest you for being goofy in this country. Most of the time. . . "