Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/humor/2013/01/28/130128sh_shouts_jost?printable=true#ixzz2KfUZfCf0

SHOUTS & MURMURS

AUTOMATIC REPLY

by Colin Jost

JANUARY 28, 2013

Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/humor/2013/01/28/130128sh_shouts_jost?printable=true#ixzz2KfUZfCf0

I will be out of the office beginning Friday, January 25th, at 1:15 (P.S.T.), and will return on Monday, February 4th, at 3:47 (Hawaiian-Aleutian Standard Time).

During that period, I will have limited access to e-mail. Meaning that I will have full access to e-mail. I will continue to read my e-mail as though I were sitting in my office, but I will be “out” of the office. Meaning there will be no difference. Also, I will probably be in the office a bunch.

I will have sporadic access to my cell phone. This is either because I am floating down the Amazon on a handmade raft or, more likely, because I am lying on my couch, staring at my cell phone and willing myself not to check it for at least fifteen minutes.

I will have extremely limited access to pay phones. I forgot to bring quarters, and the last calling card I owned expired in 1998. Also, most pay phones are now public urinals.

I will have standard access to telegrams. I’m not really sure where telegrams are at these days, but if you send one I’m sure the guy will find me. Tell him to try the office.

I will be checking my “snail mail” infrequently. “Snail mail” is a funny term I use to describe the U.S. Postal Service, because it delivers mail the way a snail would (reliably, in two to three days).

I will have almost zero access to carrier pigeons. This is less a function of my vacation and more a function of the year I was born. No one ever taught me how to use a carrier pigeon. (Where does one affix the message? Does one whisper the destination into the pigeon’s ear? Do pigeons have “ears”? Etc.)

I will have unpredictable access to messages in bottles. If you are trapped on a faraway island in the Pacific, the odds are that your bottle will not reach my office until after February 4th, at which point I will be “in” the office and can radio the nearest vessel for help. But if you are trapped on a nearby island, like the traffic island across the street from my office, please do not throw a bottle at my window. It will only disturb my vacation/nap.

I will NOT be checking my landline, which is a can attached to a string. I will be too busy digging a tunnel from my basement to my best friend’s basement.

I will have only intermittent access to Instagram. If you desperately need to show me a picture of the meal you just ate, please print a copy and mail it to:

I’m on Vacation

Attn: Gregory Campbell

c/o: My Regular Office, Where I Am

I will have erratic access to AOL chat rooms. Should you enter “BIG FILIPINO GALS OVER 50,” you may see my user name briefly, then it may disappear, as though I had seen your user name and fled the chat room. Wrong. It has to do with a family vacation I’m on.

I will have fitful access to my memories. That is why I may ignore you when you pass me on the street and yell, “Hey, Greg! It’s me, one of your valued clients!” Again, this relates to a memory problem and has nothing to do with the heavyset, middle-aged Filipino gal on my arm.

While on vacation, I will not be doing that thing where I wish someone a happy birthday by having an Indian man call and rap a happy-birthday song. My assistant will be doing that for me. Unfortunately, the Indian man is also “out of the office,” so the rapper will be a Romanian teen-ager. Happy birthday.

I will have no access to my children. A judge ruled that I should be “on vacation” from them. (My phrasing.)

And I will have constant access to Spotify. That is less informative and more of a brag.

Finally, I’m sure this goes without saying, but if you’re really rich or really famous, I am instantly available 24/7. Just yell.

The rest of you, please do not respond to this e-mail, or Google will flag it as “Urgent”—on a par with my Fresh Direct order confirmation and a Paperless Post about my sister adopting a Blasian baby.

All my best,

xoxo,

The G-Man ♦

Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/humor/2013/01/28/130128sh_shouts_jost?printable=true#ixzz2KfUJYKYN

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