Which part of uni life fills you most with anxiety?
A seminar presentation? Signing off over three grand in post-dated cheques to a Turkish landlord called Tony? Catching Chlamydia by osmosis from the toilets in Corp?
All genuine concerns. But nothing compared to the apprehension that comes with logging in to the Uni email account.
“Ever thought about a career in the circus?” Delete. “Are you fluent in Nepali?” Delete. “Bicycle lessons on the Concourse?” Delete. “Give it a Go – hair braiding.” Hmm. Maybe.
It’s an ordeal. And having ducked and dived past reams of drivel in the way of flyers on the Concourse, the last thing I want when I log on at the IC is the electronic equivalent.
One of the biggest pieces of dross to land in my inbox recently read as follows: “Are you male & aged 25-35 or female & aged 42-52?”
Erm. No. Certainly not the last time I checked. Which was this morning.
Now, I’m sure the University knows how old I am. And that I define myself as male. We have forms to sort all that out.
So why can’t the boffins at CiCS make use of this data and draw up some handy mailing lists to stop everyone receiving such emails aimed at precise demographics?
In 2008, only 13 per cent of students at our uni were aged over 25, while only one per cent were over 40.
That probably means fewer than 10 per cent of students were of age and correct body parts to help out with a study into – wait for it – the functioning of the brain.
I feel sorry for the 52-year-old female student elated at finally receiving an email that speaks to her.
But instead of an invitation-only tour of Chatsworth House, or a guest lecture on cross-stitching, she is asked to have her head examined.
I recognise using our not-so-vital statistics to create mailing lists won’t put an end to emails like “are you fluent in Double Dutch?” But it’s a start.
Apparently, one way of avoiding the tedium of reading irrelevant emails is to embrace the equal tedium of replying to them and asking to be struck off ‘the list’. Which, in this instance, was ‘special-list-1853’.
Brimming with pride at making the 1,853rd special list, I politely wrote back; only to be told I’d have to contact CiCS.
Why? I didn’t ask to be considered for studies into the brain. Shouldn’t it be that I opt in rather than out?
I should have to opt out of donating my body parts, not out of reading tripe.
On a somewhat serious note, this email conundrum has been raised at Union Council after some students complained of missing important messages.
I would tell those students to read every email. That helps. But still, logging in to our Sheffield account shouldn’t mean spending an afternoon in with Gmail.
Anyway, I’ve been sidetracked. I’d better go and read my next email.