This Could’ve Been An EMail

written by Lily Brown

If I had a dollar for every time a resident, coworker, professor, random person in the elevator, or even my own inner monologue has said “This could’ve been an email,” I would not be writing this from a good ol’ RA duty shift. I would be on a remote island somewhere, sipping something fruity, and not policing whether your Brita filter is an electrical hazard. And apparently this has happened more than twice, which is funny in its own sad way. Forget the two nickels—I would be rich. But alas, I am here. And you, dear reader, are here too.

Let’s be for real: who is genuinely reading their emails anymore? I do, but that’s not the point. It’s either you’re really into your inbox or you are absolutely not. And don’t lie. If you’re an Emerson student, statistically speaking, your inbox looks like a raccoon’s nest: chaotic, dangerous, and full of things you swear you’ll clean up “after midterms” (lies). There are two types of Emersonians:

The Inbox Zero Warriors. Yes, I see your laptop covered in stickers, your perfectly curated Notion page, and your inbox with all messages read.
The iPad Kids. The ones who somehow do everything on their devices except check the email app, which currently has 14,672 unread notifications and counting. You’re out here AirDropping each other Subway Surfers gameplay during Orientation but won’t read a single line of the email some of us spend a couple business days crafting.

Anyway, I’m here to talk about the situations where an email should have worked, but didn’t. Where we tried. Where we absolutely flopped. Where we said, “They got this, right?” only to discover—no. No, they did not.

Case In Point #1

Health & Safety Checks. We sent reminders. Then reminders for the reminders. Then summaries of the reminders about the reminders. We drop them in our floor Slack channels. We post them in the hall. We casually mention them in conversation. We sent out so many reminders that you’d think folks would remember. But still, someone opens the door giving Arthur’s-clenched-fist energy, fully convinced that we woke up this morning and chose to ruin their day.

My favorite moment: knocking, knocking again, calling “RA! Health and Safety!”, entering, and immediately realizing I am interrupting… well… not studying. Let’s just say the vibes are warm. Maybe missing a few articles of clothing. And not only do I have to point out prohibited items you did not hide, but I have to try very hard not to interrupt your hookup (true story again, believe it or not). I am trying to be a respectable adult while walking into a scene screaming, “No one read the email telling you we were coming between 1 and 4 p.m.” Like babes. Sweetheart. Honey. We sent seven reminders. You could have set one alarm.

And don’t get me started on being the villain who tells you your cute rug is a fire hazard. I don’t make the rules. Emerson and the Boston Fire Department make them. I just enforce them while resisting the urge to pet your contraband emotional support lava lamp.

Case In Point #2

Leaving for break. Ah, break season—when everyone collectively loses their minds. We RAs and ISPMs host sessions on how to shut down your room because (shocker) living in skyscraper dorms means you cannot leave everything plugged in like you live in a suburban cul-de-sac with stable electricity.

We literally tell everyone, every year:

Unplug everything (except your fridge and your fish tanks—which we cannot believe we still need to specify).
Take out your trash.
Close your windows.
Clean out your fridge unless you’re intentionally creating new forms of life.

And what happens? The same thing that always happens. No one does any of that.

Case In Point #3

Vandalism. OOOOF. Yeah… this one. This one is a little bit of a touchy subject, so I won’t dive into it too much. But let’s just say: the emails about vandalism are starting to make me wonder if we all accidentally enrolled in Law School. At this point, I fully expect the next one to open with, “Hear ye, hear ye: defacement of property constitutes a breach of Article XII, Section 4, Subsection B of the Thou Shalt Not Destroy Stuff Act.”

But seriously, we do try to sound serious when it comes to community standards: “Hi resident, due to recent incidents in the building…” Part of me wants to say what I’m actually thinking: “Whoever stole the exit sign, please just stop.” Kim, there are people that are dying—but we all get that end-of-year charge, so maybe save yourselves?

There was one time someone ripped a laundry door clean off the machine like they were auditioning for The Hulk or another when the LB Slasher absolutely obliterated my bulletin board (RIP Hello Kitty and her girlies). There is seriously no email on earth that can prevent vandalism. Plus, the people who are doing it are definitely not reading these emails. Honestly, they barely read the ramen instructions. But we try. Oh, we try.

This Definitely Could’ve Been an Email (But You Wouldn’t Have Read It Anyway)

You know, this is not just an Emerson problem. This is a generational epidemic. You see the email. You register the email. But you think, “This doesn’t apply to me personally,” even though it applies to everyone.

Trust me, I get it. Every email looks the same:

IMPORTANT
URGENT
PLEASE READ
READ THIS BEFORE YOU DO ANYTHING ELSE
READ THIS BEFORE BREATHING

At some point your brain just goes, “Hm. No.” And don’t get me started on the length of some of them. My journalist heart wants them clear and concise, but I also understand they need to be thorough for CYA reasons and so you hypothetically have all the info in one place. Sigh.

But here’s the thing… Sometimes it really can’t be an email. Sometimes an announcement needs to be said out loud. Face-to-face. In 3D. With human words. Because if we put it in an email, one of three things will happen:

It gets lost between a Canvas notification and 14 Emerson Today newsletters.
It gets skimmed so fast it becomes gibberish.
You remember seeing it, but have no idea what it said (email déjà vu).

So we do meetings. We do sessions. (Please come. I beg you.) And still we hear: “Ugh, this could’ve been an email.” Could it have? Could it really?

I won’t leave you without solutions. Emersonians need lists, and here’s one to make sure you don't miss anymore emails:

Read at least the first two lines of RA emails. The important stuff is there, I promise.
Set a silly little reminder. If your phone can notify you about Fizz, it can remind you about a break session.
Ask questions early, not at the airport. Y’all love last-minute panic.
When we say “We’re coming between 1–4 p.m.,” we mean it. We do not want to interrupt your daily activities. They’re scary.
If you choose to ignore the email, don’t act surprised later. Pretend future-you is watching. Make them proud.

Since you’re already here—congratulations. If you’ve made it to the end of this, let’s face it: this whole post? This whole 1300-ish-word rant? It could’ve been an email. But we all know you wouldn’t have opened it. And that’s okay. Because here you are, reading it anyway, probably procrastinating something. And honestly? I support that.

Just remember: behind every overachieving, slightly sleep-deprived RA is a person who cares enough to send those emails in the first place. So maybe—just maybe—read one. Or skim. Open it out of moral support. Because trust me, if I could send a telepathic message instead of an email (or those new texting eRezLife features every RA and their mother just started using), I would.

But until then, please just check your inbox. At the end of the day, we genuinely want y’all to thrive. We want you safe. We want your room to not catch on fire. We want you to know what’s happening before it happens, which is ultimately why we write emails. And if you actually read this, you’re already a better resident than you think.

This Could've Been an Email