You, your apology, and six feet of razor wire

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From: Facebook
To: me

Hi MontiLee,

Thanks for verifying your identity. We’ve unlocked your account, and you should now be able to log back in. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.

If you have any problems getting back into your account, please let us know.

View updates from your support dashboard

Thanks,

Facebook

Oh, thank goodness, they’re sorry for the inconvenience. I was sweating bullets worried about their mental well-being. Who would be there to comfort them, soothe their minds when my dilemma kept them up nights?

At least their penitent email would wipe their conscience clean. Bless the hollow apology.

But I’m really only sorta mad at Facebook. I’m really more mad it took them 24 hours to sort this out, when it should have taken no hours and a few broken fingers to drive home the point of lying as petty retribution for a difference of opinion.

I’m very kinda mad at the ass that reported my name in the first place.

Yes, after a disagreement, I was reported to Facebook for having a false name and my entire account was suspended while someone had a danish, some dinner, watched some TV, slept about 6 hours and finally checked some emails to verify that I am who I say I am.

Because 10 seconds on Google couldn’t have accomplished the same task.

It’s one thing to report a photo of abused people or violent images or an especially offensive political post. That I get, there’s really no excuse to be an ass on Facebook, and being a vulgar offensive ass should be reported and acted on.

However reporting names – someone’s name, whether it’s the legal name a body wears everyday, or one they’ve built up over years – without having to explain or own the finger pointing, is absolute bull. It’s anonymous. It’s cowardly. It’s craven. It’s the kind of passive-aggressive, two-faced shenanigans one might expect from a grade-school bully looking to make personal notches on a belt no one cares to see.

I don’t expect the person to fess up, if it’s who I think it is, the individual and possee should take a the rest of his or her life by meditating on possible meanings of the phrase “silent as the grave.”

And avoid me at all times.

So I’m back on Facebook, my account restored, my friends delighted to see me (<- that’s the best part). I said that Facebook wasn’t a big part of my life, but it really kind of is. My friends and family are there with quick updates, news from around the web, photos, and snarky comments. I missed the connection.  It was only 24 hours, but it was 24 hours longer than it should have been.

I’m still pretty angry about this. See: