Nobody likes a smartarse

I’ve just done it again. The Other Half just forwarded me an email with “spooky” coincidences and similarities between 1981 and 2005 (mostly to do with football but also randomly pointing out that Ken and Deirdre off Corrie got married in both years). Am not sure why 1981 and 2005 are mystically linked but then I’m not a) a numerologist or b) that bothered. However, my first reaction was to immediately rush off to Google some of the more spurious-sounding facts to see if it was true or the product of a fevered geeky imagination. So having established that no, there wasn’t a new Pope in 1981 (he did get shot in 1981 – I’m no vicar but I’m pretty sure that’s not the same thing as being elected Pope. Otherwise presumably inner cities all over Britain would be chock full of scarlet robes and Popemobiles rather than tracksuits and chavved-up Saxos), I triumphantly replied to all concerned to point out that in fact there was a rather large hole in this particular piece of netlore. As if anyone cared. How completely irritating am I? I’m like the class suckup who sits at the front of every lesson and puts their hand up every time a question is asked – generally waving it around, squirming and whining “I know Miss. Miss. Miss. I know” until the rest of the class collectively snaps and beats them to death in a slow-motion hail of packed lunches and novelty pencil sharpeners while the teacher stands at the front slowly applauding and Barber’s Adaggio for Strings swells in the background and…..

….oh, hang on, where was I? Oh yes, my propensity for being a complete smartarse. I just can’t help myself – since the advent of the internet and therefore the tools to debunk any urban myth going I am simply unable to take anything at face value. The minute I receive a mail telling me to beware of dodgy policemen, date rape drugs that make you sterile, imaginary speed cameras that can apparently do everything from recording your speed to knowing if you’re cheating on your tax return, evil fraudsters patrolling car parks offering free perfume samples to unsuspecting women that turn out to be chloroform and then they steal your handbag or the like, I rush straight to Snopes to check them out. For some reason it pleases me immeasurably to be able to go back to the person who’s sent the email on to tell them they’ve just made a complete twat of themselves. I think it’s partly because most of these “warnings” are either so obviously made up as to be ridiculous, or that they have very clearly originated from the US – I personally haven’t come across a K-Mart parking lot in my part of England, or maybe I’m just not looking hard enough. It’s especially funny when somebody feels moved to share their inside knowledge with not only their personal contacts, but the entire company too. The websites for checking these things out before warning everyone from the MD down about dialling *70 or whatever the hell it is from his “cellphone” to make sure that police car behind him on the dark interstate really is the police and not white slave traders/child kidnappers/Michael Jackson or whatever are easy to find, so can’t everyone just run a little check before bombarding the rest of us with this crap? Also, Bill Gates isn’t going to send ANYONE a massive cheque for helping him test his email tracking system – I would ask incredulously if there’s really anyone out there who still believes that one, if only I hadn’t had it forwarded on to me the week before last by someone I had previously credited with a certain level of intelligence. Oh, and before he gets all upset, I’m not suggesting the Other Half shouldn’t have passed the mail that kicked this post off on to me cos I know he only did it safe in the knowledge that I’d tear it to shreds.

God, I love feeling so superior. If only it was based on an actual measurable skill rather than a very sad knowledge of websites about hoax emails. Oh well.