Getting a little tired of all the fuss about Hillary's Clinton's emails? Be grateful you don't actually have to read them, writes Kirsty Major.
London - I feel sorry for the FBI agents who will have to trawl through the latest batch of emails belonging to Hillary Clinton aide Huma Abedin, as well as the journalists who will be raking through the latest Wikileaks email dump from the personal account of Clinton’s campaign chairman, John Podesta.
How many boring office emails can you read before the banality of modern work sucks every inch of vitality from your body?
In July, the FBI cleared Clinton of any criminal charges for using a private server to send state emails and rapped her on the knuckles for being “extremely careless” - putting what we thought would be an end to the biggest non-event of this year’s presidential election.
You would think there would be some seriously juicy stuff in these emails if Clinton’s aim was to run a secret email server in order to keep her correspondence from falling under the Freedom of Information Act and therefore one day into the hands of the public.
In reality, however, email isn’t the place where state secrets are talked about - for that you have SCIFs, couriers, and other approved forms of transmission. So instead, the spectre of office banter and IT problems is here to haunt the Democratic campaign once more.
Here’s a reminder of what some poor FBI agents are going to have to deal with:
There is some great office banter from Hillary: “Sorry but your message cannot go through this female-only channel which is required to operate in perpetuity in a vain attempt to balance the gender scales. Try again next millennium. Thank you for understanding.”
And some workplace bitching: “Why are liberals the world over so politically hopeless?”
Then there are some really boring birthday plans. A staffer emails Hillary her birthday arrangements: “11.30 am ENJOY THE DAY AND CELEBRATE YOUR BIRTHDAY! TBD”.
I hope nobody ever wishes me a happy birthday with the acronym “to be decided” in lieu of an actual fun plan.
We all forget our passwords, even the possible future President of the United States: “What’s my password for the NY Times?”
And confirmation of the universal truth nobody really works, they just talk about what they’re going to eat next.
Clinton: The hotel manager asked me last night to try their special breakfast. They may try to send it up - did they?
Abedin: No they just asked if we wanted masala tea. I’ll find out what it is.
Clinton: Let’s try it and maybe some fresh mangoes.
Abedin: OK
Clinton: And regular tea too?
In another email responding to a message about the DePaul University Students for Justice in Palestine group’s attempt to ban Sabra hummus on campus, Clinton revealed: “I love Sabra hummus - whatever that means”.
I hear you, HRC - it costs £1 more than the ordinary hummus, but its creaminess is priceless.
Clinton asked the question on everyone’s lips in 2012….or not: “Here’s my question: on this new berry can I get smiley faces?” Seriously, she loves emojis and was really upset when she couldn’t figure out how to use them on her new Blackberry: “I am quite bereft that I’ve lost the emoticons from my latest new old berry. Is there anyway [sic] I can add them.”
Also let’s not forget that illustrious fax conversation.
Abedin: Can you hang up the fax line, they will call again and try fax
Clinton: I thought it was supposed to be off hook to work?
Abedin: Yes but hang up one more time. So they can reestablish the line
Clinton: I did.
Abedin: Just pick up phone and hang it up. And leave it hung up.
Clinton: I've done it twice now.
Clinton: Still nothing. Call Oscar if they need help. I'll be out of pocket for an hour or so.
I know it was 2009 and all, but who even used fax machines then? Yet another attempt to rig the system.
Giving her some credit, though, she definitely emails more interesting people than I do. “Pls respond to Bon Jovis.”
So to all the agents and journalists out there waiting to wade through yet more platitudes and minor technological glitches: good luck, rather you than me.
The Independent