Tuesday, October 20, 2009
If you want to hear me rave endlessly about something, bring up the topic of junk mail. Not the penis-pill-money-scam-other-random-bullshit variety in your inbox. The stuff that goes thump in your mailbox. It actually angers me how many times I've had to fill my recycling can with this pointless crud, and grieves me to think that trees are a-fallin' so that some scamtacular company can attempt to sell their wares to little ol' me, a totally uninterested audience. I know I'm not alone in this. There should really be a law. A well-written, airtight one.
When I lived at my prior address, I signed up for a service that helps stop junk mail. It kind of worked. But since moving to my new place the junk has located me again. For every piece of legitimate mail I receive, I get ten leaflets for some crummy pizza chain or fake psychology graduate school.
Take for example, yesterday, when I finally picked up the keys for the new mail box in our fully renovated lobby (details later) The neighbor handed me some of my overflow mail and this included a Glamour magazine with my address on it. I have never subscribed to Glamour in my life. How did they find out about me? Did I fill out a card for a discount at the grocery store five years ago that placed me squarely into some sad beauty magazine demographic? Have they been tracking me ever since? Did my old hotmail address start selling my inbox contents to some scabby online marketing pirate? If I'm going to read a fluffy beauty rag it'll be Lucky all the way, thankyouverymuch.
So, I spent the last 10 minutes on the web jungle of glamour.com trying to wade through made-up statistics about sex and chirpy articles about celebrities and their luscious hair until I finally figured out how to cancel a subscription I never signed up for in the first place.
I know it's rough out there trying to market sub-par products to a world full of brokeass people, but could you stop felling forests and please stick to spamming me with laughable emails and blingy Facebook adverts instead?
Update: Turns out my sister signed me up for Glamour as a gift. Foot, mouth, you are already pretty well-acquainted...
Updated Update: My sister did not sign me up for Glamour; she subscribed me to the glorious Domino, which unexpectedly folded---Glamour was the substitution that was offered. I think she would have preferred a refund.
Posted by Rachel at 7:15 PM