grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Dear LinkedIn--

Fuck you. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyou.

On a random whim, I Googled the name of a childhood friend I'd lost touch with some years ago. The last I knew of her, she was moving to New Orleans. Ever since Katrina, I've been wondering whether or not she's still alive. Like, literally, not just in an abstract gosh-it's-been-a-while sense.

I found a profile that might be hers, but I'm not sure.

So I click to see the profile. Oh, sorry, you're not working, you're upgrading servers or something and you'll be back up in half an hour.

So I click again a half an hour later and you've nudged the ETA to be back up by another half hour.

I go through this a few more rounds and get my brains sucked out by the internets in the meantime and finally, you're up.

But, of course, if I want to actually view the profile, I'll need to sign up for your service. Yeah, whatever, here's my name, here's my gmail, here's my confirmation. Takes me a few rounds for the confirm email to take, but okay.

So I hunt for her profile again and, oh, sorry, you still won't actually let me SEE it until I upgrade to business class or whatever.

Okay, I'll send a message.

Oh, but the inbox doesn't work either. Unless I upgrade.

Did I mention, fuck you?

So I click to add her as a connection and there's a space I can leave a note so I leave a frantic and slightly cryptic message to this person who may or may not be the girl responsible for getting me into Duran Duran and hope to all things holy that she somehow gets the message and somehow contacts me back.

Fuck you, LinkedIn. Fuck. You.

yours sincerely,

Sheila