Junk mail

Since the United States Postal Service has yet to invent the "nee-nee/ja-nee"sticker, I have spent the past eighteen months becoming once again reacquainted with the concept of junk mail. If you think Dutch junk mail (the cheap local newspapers, the flyers, the coupon booklets) are bad, you need to take care of my mail for about a month. Actually, you're welcome to come do that regardless of what you think, but that's beside the point. The point is that American junk mail is beyond unbelievable. It's not just flyers from shops and little local rags that do nothing but leave your hands black and your mind full of things you didn't need to know, like the date of the next lawnmower-riding competition. American junk mail goes far beyond that.

It includes endless appeals for your money from every possible organization you could think of, from the St. Jude fund for children's hospitals, to the fraternal order of police, to the local public broadcasting organization. I have no clue how they ever got our address, but they did, and, boy, are they ready to wear it out. Each letter is addressed to us personally, and one is even sadder than the other ("Dear Dixiechick, did you know that without your help, your quarter per day, five children will die this year?"). The envelopes look different every time, so you can't just sort them out based on appearance, and sometimes these organizations make the envelopes look like they come from serious federal or state government agencies. I can't count the number of times I almost had a heart attack right there at our mailbox because I thought we had received a letter from the IRS or some other scary government branch, only to find it was a plea for our money. And these organizations do more than just tug at your heartstrings, they also include little gifts and trinkets, pretty much obliging you to do something in return. We have hundreds of little stickers with husband-dear's name and our address on it, we have several refrigerator magnets, bookmarks, and goodness knows what other kinds of vain attempts to get our money. I say vain because usually they are. And that's my fault. You see, these organizations are pretty smart. Not only do they disguise their envelopes, and try to somehow bribe us into donating money, they also always address all their mail to my husband. Who is, admittedly, the biggest teddy bear on the planet, and would give his right arm away if it would help you out. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he's married to me, and although I would give very much away to help you out, I think I draw the line at my right arm. So we end up giving to a few select charities, and then throw all the other pleas away (although we do keep all their trinkets - if they're useful - of course).

The one other aspect of American junk mail that continues to surprise me is the credit card offer. In spite of the current credit crisis, American credit card companies are apparently not satisfied until everyone has at least fourteen credit cards. And even though husband-dear and I both have the same number of credit cards (and they're in both our names), these companies seem to find me an appealing target. I receive an average of three offers per week. Husband-dear gets none. It's really quite unfair, since I would love all the little trinkets, and I never get any of those. And although these companies try to disguise their envelopes too, by making them look like bills, or strangely enough, mail from charitable organizations, I've become quite adept at picking them out. Most credit card junk mail seems to come from a specific state, and use a certain font. And all of them use my middle initial. Very odd. Since I have no need for another credit card, I save the mail until I have a decent little pile and then spend a good ten minutes each month scaring the crap out of the dog as I shred them all.

As of recently we're on the national do-not-call list (and let me tell you, it works!), and I'm really beginning to wonder if maybe someone should start a do-not-mail list. Something you could sign up for when you're just plain satisfied with what you have, Or perhaps we should create a more generic just-leave-me-the-heck-alone list. I know I'd sign up. Or how about we just all start using the Dutch "no-no" stickers? I'm all for it!