“DEAR SEAN,” the email began in all caps. “PLEASE COMMENT ON THE CRACKER BARREL LOGO CHANGE! THIS IS A BAD THING!”

As it happens, I have a story about bad things. The story is about an old man. He lived during in the Great Depression. He was a very poor farmer. His home was a ramshackle shotgun house. He drove a rusted truck that predated the Punic Wars.

His truck, you see, he needed very badly, because he was raising his teenage grandson, who lived with him. That truck was what carried them into town.

One day, his truck gave up the ghost. It was devastating. All the neighbors visited to see if they could fix it. But it was hopeless. The old truck was deader than disco. The neighbors offered their condolences.

“THIS IS SUCH A BAD THING THAT HAPPENED TO YOU!” said his neighbors.

Neighbors always spoke in all caps back then.

But the old man did not seem worried. In fact, he just shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, it’s not for me to say whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.”

A few days later, several of the local farmers banded together and donated a vehicle to the old man. It was a Packard. Brand spanking new. It was a LOT nicer than his old truck. Leather seats. Chromework galore. White-walled tires. Hood ornament of a disproportionately gifted naked lady on the front.

All the neighbors stopped by to congratulate him on the new wheels. Once again, they spoke in all caps.

And, once again, the old man replied, “Oh, it’s not for me to say whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.”

How could the old man say this? IT WAS A NEW CAR FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! DIDN’T HE UNDERSTAND?! AND WHY WASN’T HE USING HIS CAPS LOCK KEY?!

But then, a few weeks later, that car broke down on the highway while the old man’s grandson was driving. They were involved in an automotive accident that nearly killed the old man’s grandson. It left his grandson with two broken legs.

Everyone came to console the old man.

But again, the old man replied, “Oh, it’s not for me to say whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.”

Not long thereafter, a world war broke out. It wasn’t long before young men from nearby farms were being drafted into service, and dying on foreign soil. But when the draft board came calling on the old man’s grandson, the young man was exempted from service because of his broken legs. He was one of only three young men in the county to survive such a costly war.

The moral of this story?

SPEAKING IN ALL CAPS IS SO EXHAUSTING.