Auto-correct, Disrespect, or Consumer Obsession?

Before I start this long overdue post, I'd like to offer a brief apology/explanation for my long absence from the blogosphere. As many of you know, the last six months have been fairly confusing for me for numerous reasons (if only by First World standards). In the interim, I've felt self-consumed and over-exposed enough without taking to this blog and barfing out stories.

That being said, I can only keep from staring in the mirror for so long. Don't misunderstand this as some Michael Jackson-type self-reflection metaphor; I'm really just totally conceited. Consider the following as an end to my hiatus:

The other day I received a work-related email from a woman I've known for some time. It was probably the third or fourth message in a succession of back-and-forth dialogue between the two of us. She's one of those people who sends hurried emails from her iPhone midday and expects an immediate response. In fact, she'd prefer to receive rushed emails full of lies than still prompt, thought-out emails that actually make sense.

At this point, I also have to mention that she'd emailed me several times already that day, and, since she doesn't seem to connect "thinking" to sending emails, nor understand the concept of "day job," she sent them in rapid succession. Many included statements such as, "Before I forget..." or "After I sent that last one, I realized..." in bubbly violet (or was it chartreuse?) script.

Sweat forming on my brow, I noticed that a whole 5 minutes had passed between when the email hit my inbox and when I read it, so I took to my keyboard like Amy Winehouse on speed (too soon?). I furiously typed what I thought seemed like a semi-coherent response, hit spell check and sent it off, hoping that this women was mid tennis match or gnawing at a piece of kale or something and I'd be able to get work accomplished before being forced to send out another reply.

I gnawed on my arm staring at the auto refresh button, shushing anyone who tried to talk to me. Point five seconds later, her next email appeared. It said:

"Dear Nissan..."

No, that's no typo, she actually addressed me as the multinational automaker headquartered in Japan. You might think that happens to me often. Nope.

As I see it, there are several explanations:

1) Auto-correct: Isn't there a law that says the simplest explanation is the usually the correct one?

2) Consumer obsession: Is it possible that this women subliminally advertised a brand loyalty so unconsciously entrenched by our commercially absorbed society that it has invaded even her most casual communication?

3) Disrespect: Is it not true that I, being referred to as "Maserati" or even "Mercedes," could have emailed the remainder of the day away with Bourgeois pride?

4) Fat joke: Have you seen the rear bumper on the current Xterra?

Regardless of intent, my head swarmed with a life's worth of awkward party chatter to the effect of, "Wouldn't it be cool if you drove an Altima?" or "Dude, it would be so sweet if you just took an X-acto knife and just scrapped off the 'N'." I even debated calling her out on her mistake in my next email. I didn't, and I'm still unsure if she realized her mistake.