At least three services have been conceived for the benefit of ordinary folk: U.S. mail, the telephone and e-mail.
Early in our marriage, when we set up shop in Zuni, N.M., one of us exclaimed, on our first trip to the post office, “Look, our first bills!
A similar sensation happened when we started realizing that we had a real phone. Our year in Zuni required us to rely on the kindness of some fellow teachers, the Boyds, who had the only private phone in the compound. A long distance call was as expensive as a Caesarean section.
So when we got our own phone, a party line, we were ecstatic but cognizant that long distance calls would be costly, so we kept the calls down.
When we first got hooked up with the Internet, we thought, “Neat! Think how much we’ll save on postage.” The Internet has been a double-edged sword: it’s very inexpensive to do mass mailings, and that helps save on postage, but because of it’s inexpensivity, we’re on everybody’s list.
Saturday, upon cracking open the Outlook Express feature, instead of the usual half dozen messages, there were 208 awaiting my attention. I’ve been letting them accumulate, and each batch contains about 50 pieces of “spam,” a term for unsolicited junk mail, indiscriminately disseminated.
It’s early Thursday, and there are currently 842 messages. To be sure, there’s one from my son Stan, explaining how spamming happens, and another e-mail from another son Ben, reminding me I need to keep sending my bi-monthly installments, which he will deposit until I reach my desired weight. But that’s a topic for another column.
How do we merit receiving so much e-mail? What did we do to earn this Spam Enchanted Evening? Stan, who works for Microsoft in Seattle, understandably receives about 280 messages a day. But what qualifies me to be as popular as Paris Hilton, who surely doesn’t receive more e-mail than I do? What in the name of Britney Spears’ bare midriff did I do to get such an honor?
And sprinkled in among the several hundred messages are the usual “forwardings,” a process through which people mail something cute to a friend, who thinks it’s hilarious and forwards it to everyone in Christendom, or everyone in the sender’s address book, whichever is larger. Something happens to people left alone with e-mail capabilities. We have received countless “chain letters,” urging us to forward the message (of hope or prosperity or greed or politics) to 10 others. Well, it’s cheaper than buying 37-cent stamps, but even if e-mail is virtually free, we’ve committed the unpardonable sin of “breaking the chain,” which 1) dooms us to ill health or 2) deprives us of untold riches.
When my e-mail started building, I was getting some come-hither invitations for implied hanky-panky from girls named Lisa, Misty, Tammy, Cyndi, Sandy and Nikki, perfect names for piquing one’s curiosity. They belong to young, vibrant people who send the following subject lines: “This weekend,” “Hey, stranger, “”It’s not too late” and “What’s up?”
It’s the Nikkis and Lisas who send these coquettish missives through cyberspace. You’ll never find one signed by “Bertha,” “Gertrude,” “Evelyn,” “Hortense” “Hildegard” or anybody else whose name begins with H. As it turns out, “This weekend,” proposed by Sandy, isn’t a romp in the grass; rather, it’s an invitation to be out of debt “this weekend,” for I can have “half a thousand” transferred to my account like magic.
And the other bloomin’ messages are the same thing. It’s as if a homeroom teacher sent all her charges out to tell raffle or pancake tickets, the sellers outnumbering the potential buyers. Even though we live out in the sticks, would you believe we’ve had as many as nine kids in one day plying the same raffle tickets?
But back to e-mails. New to the batch of solicitations is a “Christian Mortgage” company, a Christian singles link, and a “Christian Loan” company whose web page shows a rosary. I’m not one to split Biblical hairs, but a rosary is what Catholics use. Though Catholics clearly admit to being Christians, don’t they prefer the word “Catholic”? Don’t Christians generally comprise Protestants? And just as I was lamenting the heathenness of the ŒNet, I received a “Christian Satellite” TV offer. The programming isn’t necessarily Christian, but the fellow who installs the dish carries a Gideon bible.
And there are invitations to check out Christian dating services, a Jewish lonely hearts club, and a dating service in this, the original Las Vegas.
Should the need arise, it’s easy to get “the other blue pill,” from about a dozen people peddling it. And there’s an offer of inexpensive medical help in case the blue pill leads to pregnancy.
Several sites tout the ease with which we can get a degree in a hurry, all without ever leading your keyboard. One pushes an M.B.A. degree from Regus University. Yet, the actual web page is about Regis University, the respected private school in Colorado. U and I can make a difference.
The techniques people use to get your attention and open the e-mail are interesting. One subject line is “¿Que?” and another is “Hola.” That greeting, pronounced “ola,” just isn’t used around here, unless someone’s reciting in a conversational Spanish class.
As difficult as it was to let down Sandy and her friends by my inability to join them “this weekend,” I should explain I was, uh, busy.
Almost all spam contains an “unsubscribe” feature which requires the receiver to click here, enter the e-mail address and theoretically get removed from the mailing list. That action more likely verifies the owner’s e-mail address and increases the amount of spam.
Much more needs to be written about the “unsubscribe” feature, before the fit hits the spam.
Meanwhile, does anyone have solutions short of carting off the computer to the nearest landfill, along with zillions of credit card offers that come by snail mail?