Geoff in Marketing — The Reply-All Sage

Lyrics

Two thirty-seven on a Tuesday.
The air is still.
A message from Brenda in HR.
Subject line: Q3 Potluck Sign-Up.
Innocent.

I see his cursor from across the room.
Geoff in Marketing.
A little white arrow, hovering.
A hummingbird of indecision over the blue hyperlink.
He doesn't click the link.
No, he moves.
Up and to the left.
Past the paperclip icon.
Past the little forward arrow.
To the one with two heads.
The one we never touch.

And he clicks it.
Oh, Geoff.
Two hundred and forty-seven inboxes ignite.
A supernova of nothing.
"+1," says Dave from Accounts.
"Adding my voice," from someone in Legal.
"Thanks!" says Geoff.
Just... "Thanks!"
Seven minutes.
A digital wildfire of agreement.

The original email, a forgotten boat.
Brenda just wanted to know who was bringing cole slaw.
But Geoff didn't read that far.
He saw a name, a subject.
He saw a stage.
And now the quiet hum of the server room
Is drowned out by the quiet hum of disregard.
A collective sigh across Floor Three.
Two hundred and forty-seven people
deleting the same thoughtless thought.

And he clicks it.
Oh, Geoff.
Two hundred and forty-seven inboxes ignite.
A supernova of nothing.
"+1," says Dave from Accounts.
"Adding my voice," from someone in Legal.
"Thanks!" says Geoff.
Just... "Thanks!"
Seven minutes.
A digital wildfire of agreement.

You little button.
You with your two little heads.
You were meant for collaboration.
For emergencies.
In Geoff's hands, you're just a bell
he rings to prove he's still here.
A small, sharp pinprick
in the afternoon of two hundred and forty-seven strangers.
He doesn't know our names.
But we all know his.

The storm passes.
The threads are muted.
The little red notification circles vanish, one by one.
Brenda still doesn't know about the cole slaw.