Learning you are dead, or laid off, over social media is a bad start to the weekend
.jpg "Fort Worth Star-Telegram sports columnist Mac Engel never thought he would share something with dictators Fidel Castro and Kim Jong Un, and Yankees Hall of Famer Joe DiMaggio, but all four, at one point, were presumed to be dead when they were not.")
Finding out you are dead is discouraging news, but learning that you have been laid off is the real rusty wrench in your cereal.
I now join the select fraternity that includes Joe DiMaggio, Fidel Castro, and Kim Jong Un. We were all falsely reported dead.
At least when those guys “died” they still had their jobs.
Proving Google is imperfect, and the Internet spares no one, on May 1, 2020, it was circulated that I was either dead or had been laid off.
To the disappointment of so many, neither was true. “Was” being the operative word.
It’s a reminder of the importance of grammar, and why all of us should wait at least a few more seconds before “going with it.”
On Friday afternoon my spouse called to ask, “Is everything OK? Someone wrote something that makes it sound like you’re dead. Did you get laid off?”
The first bit of news would have been slightly bothersome, perhaps even welcomed, while the second would have been crushing.
A few minutes later I received a direct message on Twitter from Star-Telegram columnist Bud Kennedy who asked, “You OK?” A few others inquired as well.
Now I am both worried, and irritated.
This must be how Kim Jong Un felt.
Someone posted the following on a private Facebook message board that read: “So sorry for your loss. Jennifer Floyd Engel. MAC was such a talent and will be missed and fondly remembered by all sports enthusiasts. May you find comfort in your community.”
Let the celebration begin.
Most of us, at some point, have asked, what will they say about me when I’m the one in the casket? (For the record, my preference is to be cremated, put in a salt shaker, and sprinkled across the kitchens, beds, and living rooms of my enemies.)
This briefest of glimpses allowed me to live out the fantasy of actually being Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer, who famously attended his own funeral.
I have no clue to the identity of the author who sent their condolences, but the person’s sentiment is charming. Because when I check out, I want something akin to the reaction generated by the death of Princess Diana.
Unlike Sawyer, this confusion was not as a result of a practical joke of my own creation.
The disappointing detail is the timing reeked of a Friday afternoon news dump. If I’m going out, I’d want it to go down on a Sunday night. Or early Monday morning.
The post was up for a short amount of time before it was removed, which helped.
Having seen The Matrix many times, I was 95 percent confident I was not dead. But I couldn’t escape the feeling of wanting to find a phone with a hardline, just to be sure. Still concerned, I called my editors to see if I was laid off. Because, these days, most of us live in fear of such news.
I was assured I was not, but even as I type this I still don’t necessarily believe it.
So how did this all happen? How did someone learn of my passing before me?
On a somber note, I wrote a detailed story about the passing of a Euless man, Glenmar Gabriel. He died in April, and although the final results are not in, he tested positive for COVID-19.
Having recently lost an older brother to cancer, I am now familiar with this sort of loss and sadness. Glenmar was 37, and he should be alive today.
The headline to the story read, “A Fort Worth man died alone on his couch at 37. He had coronavirus, a test revealed.”
Because of Google’s preset format for the way news stories are presented on its pages, the author’s name is immediately followed by the headline.
So the two clauses, or sentences, are compressed together on the Google page for a synopsis that reads, “Mac Engel. A Fort Worth man died alone on his couch at 37.”
That’s why it looked like I had died.
Fortunately, the state of confusion lasted only a couple of hours, and my parents never did see it.
Honest mistake, of course, but a lesson nonetheless: There is one person who may potentially say something nice at my funeral, and before you extend condolences, wait a few seconds to be sure the person is actually dead.
This story was originally published May 5, 2020 at 5:00 AM.
