Humour

Washing your email in style

T A Balasubramanian writes about a language detergent that acts as an emotion monitor for emails and can clean them up

“You know, guys, I do it all the time. I compose a witty email; hit the send button and sit back waiting for the reflex belly laugh that the reply is sure to carry. Minutes tick by, lunch comes and goes, and the day passes with no response. Finally, I reach for the phone and call my email buddy for the overdue giggle, only to find that she is furious with me. I thought I was making a fabulous joke—but no, she completely missed it,” groans Oza Spinoza, CEO of PR Enterprise Systems and Solutions, better known to the world as ‘The PRESS.’

“She could not get your joke, Boss?” says Fizzler Fernando, Chief Marketing Manager, looking deeply disturbed.

“Well, women have a different sense of humour, Fernando,” sniffs Sellina Reddy, Product Manager.

“Ha, Sellina, maybe they do. But this is not about gender differences in appreciating humour,” says Spinoza, waving his arm imperiously for dramatic effect. “How could this happen? Apparently, with billions of emails flying around in cyberspace every day, it happens all the time. And it’s not just humor that gets misinterpreted in emails—messages meant to convey mild displeasure can come across as tirades, and serious comments can be misconstrued as snide sarcasm.”

“Well, Boss, shall we get rid of email?” says Fernando.

“That would be perfect, my dear Fizzler. But totally impractical, since email has sneaked into our corporate webs and become part of everyday exchanges. In fact, in a series of studies by Duckbill & Goose on email and emotional intelligence, participants were only able to accurately communicate sarcasm and humor in about half of the emails they sent. What’s worse, most people had no idea that they were not making themselves clear.”

“Why is this happening, Boss?” says Sellina.

“Well, according to one reputed professor of psychology, our natural tendency to be egocentric is at the root of the problem. Of course, that doesn’t mean I am all focused on I, me and myself all the time when I send emails, you know,” says Spinoza hastily.

“Of course,” says Sellina, with a look of prim innocence.

“It is not that we are all narcissists. We humans just have a tough time detaching ourselves from our own perspectives and imagining how our talk could be ‘heard’ differently. Paradoxically, the fact that we are usually very good at making ourselves understood physically is also what trips us up in the email arena.”

“I don’t follow this, Boss,” says Fernando, frowning.

“Well, Fizzler, the problem is that we carry a lot of ape culture across like baggage from one domain to another. Talking to someone face-to-face provides us with billions of bits of information that we unconsciously use to make our primitive interpretations—sniffs, twitches, gruff or shaky voice, eye contact, clothing, posture, even smell. We understand, for example, that if someone suddenly and dramatically widens their eyes—like flashbulbs—they are expressing surprise. A shrug of the shoulders may indicate indifference. We are so good at processing non-verbal signals that we do it without thinking, in a happy-go-lucky sort of way.”

“I’m pretty good at detecting false cues, Boss,” says Sellina. “Such as the fake smile of a shop salesman. A heartfelt smile will not only lengthen the mouth—like this—but also turn it up at the corners. In addition, a real smile creates crow’s feet wrinkles around the eyes.”

“Wow, Boss, I had no idea we did all this,” says Fernando, his mouth wide open.

“Nor did I, until recently. No one is quite sure how much of our communication is non-verbal. The statistics of one anthropologist suggest it is around 65%, but other scientists put it as high as 93%.”

“What does it all mean for us in our business, Boss?”

“Ah, I am coming to that, Sellina. Unfortunately, our writing skills have not yet begun to compensate for the lack of rich ape data that is naturally inherent in face-to-face communication. When your communication is stripped down to mere word strings in emails, the stage is set for confusion—all our ape senses go for a toss. So much so, that we often do not recognize ambiguous meanings—like in that dashed-off email joke.”

“You had no idea that you were offensive, Boss,” says Fernando, pleasingly. “With our ape credentials, nobody can trust themselves to be nice and courteous.”

“Exactly. Humanity needs help when dashing off emails. So this is where we come in with our program called PRINCE, short for ‘PR’s Inoculation for Nice and Courteous Emails.’ It will sit on all common word processors like a genteel prince, pouncing instantly on strings of words that have double-meaning or even the potential to offend. It alerts the user to incendiary phrases with red chili pepper icons, one, two, or three of them depending upon the potential to burn.”

“That is amazing, Boss. How does it work, applying all these—chilis?”

“It is a language detergent that acts as an emotion monitor for your emails and helps you clean it up. It can detect aggressive, demeaning or rude language in the email you send or receive by looking at both individual words and complete phrases. Essentially, it is a document classification system, which ‘reads’ your email and rates it. One chili would warn you mildly, with ‘Better hope you know the person,’ while two would say,’Watch out, you’re playing with fire chilies here,’ and three would sound all the bells with ‘Hey, this is the kind of thing that might get your keyboard washed out with soap.’ A progressive clamp-down on your sizzle, so to speak.”

“Well, I am glad I do not have to mind my tongue now, Boss, when I let off steam at someone,” says Sellina.

“Ah, there’s a catch. Using our three chili pepper scale will not stop you from acting irresponsibly in email—it will just let you know when you might be about to send a message you will regret. It’s not a replacement for common sense, and you can fool it. It’s just there to help you think twice before telling your CEO what you honestly think. And it is a whole lot of fun for some people—maybe you are the sort who will wear the chilies with defiant pride.”

“Does this thing get upset if I use a few profanities, Boss?”

“Yes, it does, Fizzler. It’s like your mother. The feature provides a safety net for catching those heat-of-the-moment emails, but remember that, like the rest of us, the program is completely baffled by electronic sarcasm.”

“If I don’t use nasty words, will PRINCE still notify me?” says Sellina, archly.

“Hmm. The program looks at both individual words and phrases that are commonly considered offensive, dictatorial, aggressive, insulting and rude. You don’t have to write a nasty word to get a chili pepper, but it helps. At least you are being careful about what you write. That’s something, eh?”

“Oh, that helps,” says Sellina, looking up at the ceiling with a smile. “Not that I had anything specific to email to you, Boss.”

“That’s a relief, Ms. Reddy. All right, it is time to take our chili pepper dispenser out into the world, guys. So put on your war-paint, fire up your notebooks and let’s get PRINCE on the road. With all those billions of emails waiting to be washed, we have a big clean-up job to do.”