The out-of-office is a document. Four full paragraphs. It covers, in detail: which matters constitute "urgent," who to contact for each category of urgent, the expected response time upon his return, a note about checking email "intermittently," and some closing line about appreciating your patience. It's structured. It has flow. Someone genuinely sat down and crafted this away-message like it was a farewell speech.
Now, the emails this same man sends when he's actually working, actually present, actually available:
"Noted, thanks."
Three words. That's the standard. That's the range. Send him a detailed proposal, a carefully reasoned request, a whole strategy laid out with care — "Noted, thanks." Sometimes, on a generous day, "Noted, thanks, let's discuss." A four-word blowout.
So the imbalance is genuinely something to behold. When he's gone, when he literally cannot help you, he writes you four paragraphs. When he's there, when a real reply would actually move something forward, you get three words and a full stop.
It's almost poetic. The absence is verbose. The presence is a receipt. His most detailed, thoughtful, thorough communication is the message that exists specifically to tell you he won't be communicating.
And honestly it tracks. The out-of-office is the one email where he has to do all the thinking upfront, once, for everyone, forever — so he invests. The daily emails are individual, repeated, endless, so he's optimized them down to the absolute minimum viable acknowledgment. "Noted, thanks" is peak efficiency. The four-paragraph auto-reply is peak effort. And they will never, ever coexist in the same message.
I've started looking forward to him going on leave, honestly. It's the only time I get the long version.