Due to my own carelessness, I recently lost a friend.
Rather, I recently lost an "unfriend."
I'll try to clarify.
Late last year, during the contentious election season, I went through a bit of an unfollowing and unfriending phase. Political and petty arguments made me disenchanted with many of my social media so-called friends and Facebook in general. I craved puppy videos, not propaganda, and trimmed my friends lists accordingly. And probably too aggressively.
I can't remember now what the former co-worker who moved many states away posted that irked me in my annoyed state several months ago (which proves it was certainly small and ultimately insignificant). But I do very vaguely recall rationalizing that we hadn't actually spoken in more than 15 years and likely wouldn't for the next 50. While we once were pals, we had both moved on with our lives and no longer had anything -- except a couple of Facebook friends -- in common. I figured I'd quietly click the unfriend option and fade into the social media sunset. The end.
Fast forward to the recent club shooting in Little Rock that wounded 28 people. I wasn't in the state the Saturday when it happened. And if I had been in the state, I wouldn't have been at a Saturday rap show at 2:30 a.m. (These days, 2:30 a.m. is about the time I'm getting up for work, not getting crunk.)
The next morning, my Facebook feed was filled with news of the brutal event. Facebook even initiated a Safety Check for "The Violent Incident in Little Rock, Arkansas," for users to "check on friends in the affected area or mark yourself safe." Though some friends officially declared themselves safe, I didn't. Surely no one who knows lame, ol' me would not expect me to be out clubbing, and besides, they could see I was perfectly fine from recent activity on my page.
Well, they could see that if they could actually access my page.
The former co-worker, the one I unfriended, attempted to see it unsuccessfully. Gulp.
In an effort to check on my wellness, she would be met with my locked-down profile page and a "Do you know Jennifer? To see what she shares with friends, send her a friend request" message when she thought we were friends. Gasp.
And I know all this because she called me out. Cringe.
"YIKES. Ouch. Why the defriend?" she confronted via Messenger. (Which gave me a chance to notice when our last exchange took place. It appears that I messaged her in January of 2009, told her she looked great, blah blah, and she never wrote back. But now suddenly I was the jerk.)
This isn't how this was supposed to happen. We were both supposed to naturally forget each other, as we basically already had for 15-plus years. But now this social media betrayal had come to light and feelings were hurt.
So I did what any usually decent but sometimes disappointing person would do in such an uncomfortable situation -- an uncoordinated combination of minimizing, backpedaling, fibbing, coddling and groveling.
"I'm sorry (name here)! I do not have an answer for you. I don't remember doing that or know why I would have. If you'd like to reconnect, I'd be honored."
It wasn't entirely untrue. I was sorry to have this blow up in my face, and I did not have a great explanation. And now, I did feel compelled to smooth things over and win back this acquaintance I had once been willing to lose.
I sent my reply at 3:50 p.m. And I friend-requested her for good measure. Now we could rekindle our old bond! Maybe she'd come and visit! Maybe I'd go visit her and meet her ... uh, is she married? Does she have kids? Maybe I could be Aunt Jenn! And maybe she has pets? Maybe we could go on vacations together! How exciting that we'd be catching up, renewing ties and becoming best friends forever!
At 4:12 p.m. she read the message. And then ... nothing. No further correspondence. No acceptance of my request, which I have since retracted. Here she was ignoring me ... after years of us ignoring each other! Hmph!
Can you believe she'd treat the could-have-been godmother of her children -- if she has any -- like that?
Want to be friends? Email:
jchristman@arkansasonline.com
What's in a Dame is a weekly report from the woman 'hood. You can hear Jennifer on Little Rock's KURB-FM, B98.5 (B98.com), from 5:30-9 a.m. Monday through Friday.
Style on 07/11/2017