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I was crying around Facebook not long ago, I was acting contrary to the management of my business, when I came across a guest post, visible through a friend who was not in contact with the university. It began with the words “Warning.” My self-defense that I control self-control acts and I listen to the advice if the young people in the video come across the “DANGER” signs on the walls connected by the rust. I tossed my bike, turned my baseball cup back, and went to the abandoned mine I went to.
“Warning,” the guest wrote. “This could be a trigger for trying to get pregnant.” I don’t belong to any group, and as I was about to read the whole story I felt sorry for the middle of the television — a good part, the other side of the gossip.
But at the bottom of the mine, it turned out, there was a wonderful party with a cake and balloons. My guest had a baby, after many hardships. I repaired my sad face in my eyes, though they were all the same face, at the same time they were carefree and empty. I was very outgoing, and at the party no one invited me.
I have been watching online warnings for a while. I also look at the little red flags Netflix puts it on the doorstep of each show. (The “rude behavior” I really like.) The guest’s announcement was the first to see a warning against someone else’s happy ending. In the financial media, we inevitably live in the days of other people. We set up fireworks for funerals and asked funeral directors for their explosions. But what the visitor wrote was very clever as we live today in each other’s pockets and, in addition, on each other’s faces. It touched me deeply, with astonishing care.
I am reminded of an old story Betty White tells us about her late friend Grant Tinker, who visited her on a late afternoon in 1981, when she heard that her husband had died. Tinker had just returned from a conference where he learned he had become the new President of NBC. White remembers not mentioning these changes, life-changing once in the process. “I never forgot,” White says. “He’s a wonderful friend.”
In the face of it, we still know how to be best friends. But the class is deceptive on TV. No one can be expected to read a room when the room is the same as the planet. As a result, as an agent for the common people, we have warnings and objections. We rely too much on clear statements: “Obviously…” Temporary grievances come as a result of gratitude for all weight. A friend of mine told me, “Sometimes it just feels like I’m losing my job to stay away.”
Even algorithms are beginning to recognize the need for caution. My online store recently asked me, an 40-year-old orphan, if I would like to stop receiving emails about Mother’s Day commitments. Earlier this year, Twitter brought out the side which encourages people to reconsider a response that may be harmful or offensive before sending it. “Cause,” as the company calls it, depends on the machine to know the content, which is why it also includes a way to comment: “Have we done this wrong?”
“Am I wrong in this?” may be the only sign below all of the items we post. For all the arrogant reasons described in the so-called selfie ages, a large part of the Freudian digital age is the winner – the mentor in each of us who changes our behavior according to social norms. Our Leader yearns for success. Twitter’s promotion is a superego release, a few words in our headlines released as a code.
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