天津阅读 Rd010・2017_06 阅读理解

Suppose you’re in a rush, feeling tired, not paying attention to your screen, and you send an email that could get you in trouble.

Realisation will probably set in seconds after you’ve clicked “send”. You freeze in horror and burn with shame.

What to do? Here are four common email accidents, and how to recover.

Clicking “send” too soon

Don’t waste your time trying to find out if the receiver has read it yet. Write another email as swiftly as you can and send it with a brief title explaining that this is the correct version and the previous version should be ignored.

Writing the wrong name

The sooner you notice, the better. Respond quickly and briefly, apologising for your mistake. Keep the tone measured: don’t handle it too lightly, as people can be offended, especially if your error suggests a misunderstanding of their culture (i.e. incorrect ordering of Chinese names).

Clicking “reply all” unintentionally

You accidentally reveal (透露) to the entire company what menu choices you would prefer at the staff Christmas dinner, or what holiday you’d like to take. In this instance, the best solution is to send a quick, light-hearted apology to explain your awkwardness. But it can quickly rise to something worse, when everyone starts hitting “reply all” to join in a long and unpleasant conversation. In this instance, step away from your keyboard to allow everyone to calm down.

Sending an offensive message to its subject

The most awkward email mistake is usually committed in anger. You write an unkind message about someone, intending to send it to a friend, but accidentally send it to the person you’re discussing. In that case, ask to speak in person as soon as possible and say sorry. Explain your frustrations calmly and sensibly—see it as an opportunity to clear up any difficulties you may have with this person.

Fifteen years ago, I took a summer vacation in Lecce in southern Italy. After climbing up a hill for a panoramic (全景的) view of the blue sea, white buildings and green olive trees, I paused to catch my breath and then positioned myself to take the best photo of this panorama.

Unfortunately, just as I took out my camera, a woman approached from behind, and planted herself right in front of my view. Like me, this woman was here to stop, sigh and appreciate the view.

Patient as I was, after about 15 minutes, my camera scanning the sun and reviewing the shot I would eventually take, I grew frustrated. Was it too much to ask her to move so I could take just one picture of the landscape? Sure, I could have asked her, but something prevented me from doing so. She seemed so content in her observation. I didn’t want to mess with that.

Another 15 minutes passed and I grew bored. The woman was still there. I decided to take the photo anyway. And now when I look at it, I think her presence in the photo is what makes the image interesting. The landscape, beautiful on its own, somehow comes to life and breathes because this woman is engaging with it.

This photo, with the unique beauty that unfolded before me and that woman who “ruined” it, now hangs on a wall in my bedroom. What would she think if she knew that her figure is captured (捕捉) and frozen on some stranger’s bedroom wall? A bedroom, after all, is a very private space, in which some woman I don’t even know has been immortalized (使…永存). In some ways, she lives in my house.

Perhaps we all live in each others’ spaces. Perhaps this is what photos are for: to remind us that we all appreciate beauty, that we all share a common desire for pleasure, for connection, for something that is greater than us.

That photo is a reminder, a captured moment, an unspoken conversation between two women, separated only by a thin square of glass.

This month, Germany’s transport minister, Alexander Dobrindt, proposed the first set of rules for autonomous vehicles (自主驾驶车辆). They would define the driver’s role in such cars and govern how such cars perform in crashes where lives might be lost.

The proposal attempts to deal with what some call the “death valley” of autonomous vehicles: the grey area between semi-autonomous and fully driverless cars that could delay the driverless future.

Dobrindt wants three things: that a car always chooses property (财产) damage over personal injury; that it never distinguishes between humans based on age or race; and that if a human removes his or her hands from the driving wheel—to check email, say—the car’s maker is responsible if there is a crash.

“The change to the road traffic law will permit fully automatic driving,” says Dobrindt. It will put fully driverless cars on an equal legal footing to human drivers, he says.

Who is responsible for the operation of such vehicles is not clear among car makers, consumers and lawyers. “The liability (法律责任) issue is the biggest one of them all,” says Natasha Merat at the University of Leeds, UK.

An assumption behind UK insurance for driverless cars, introduced earlier this year, insists that a human “be watchful and monitoring the road” at every moment.

But that is not what many people have in mind when thinking of driverless cars. “When you say ‘driverless cars’, people expect driverless cars,” Merat says. “You know—no driver.”

Because of the confusion, Merat thinks some car makers will wait until vehicles can be fully automated without human operation.

Driverless cars may end up being a form of public transport rather than vehicles you own, says Ryan Calo at Stanford University, California. That is happening in the UK and Singapore, where government-provided driverless vehicles are being launched.

That would go down poorly in the US, however. “The idea that the government would take over driverless cars and treat them as a public good would get absolutely nowhere here,” says Calo.

I read somewhere that we spend a full third of our lives waiting. But where are we doing all of this waiting, and what does it mean to an impatient society like ours? To understand the issue, let’s take a look at three types of “waits”.

The very purest form of waiting is the Watched-Pot Wait. It is without doubt the most annoying of all. Take filling up the kitchen sink (洗碗池) as an example. There is absolutely nothing you can do while this is going on but keep both eyes fixed on the sink until it’s full. During these waits, the brain slips away from the body and wanders about until the water runs over the edge of the counter and onto your socks. This kind of wait makes the waiter helpless and mindless.

A cousin to the Watched-Pot Wait is the Forced Wait. This one requires a bit of discipline. Properly preparing packaged noodle soup requires a Forced Wait. Directions are very specific. “Bring three cups of water to boil, add mix, simmer three minutes, remove from heat, let stand five minutes.” I have my doubts that anyone has actually followed the procedures strictly. After all, Forced Waiting requires patience.

Perhaps the most powerful type of waiting is the Lucky-Break Wait. This type of wait is unusual in that it is for the most part voluntary. Unlike the Forced Wait, which is also voluntary, waiting for your lucky break does not necessarily mean that it will happen.

Turning one’s life into a waiting game requires faith and hope, and is strictly for the optimists among us. On the surface it seems as ridiculous as following the directions on soup mixes, but the Lucky-Break Wait well serves those who are willing to do it. As long as one doesn’t come to rely on it, wishing for a few good things to happen never hurts anybody.

We certainly do spend a good deal of our time waiting. The next time you’re standing at the sink waiting for it to fill while cooking noodle soup that you’ll have to eat until a large bag of cash falls out of the sky, don’t be desperate. You’re probably just as busy as the next guy.