© Pierre Maré,
2004 - 2007
Offbeat 87
I sent a really ugly e-mail to a woman who calls herself Leta McWilliams this week. I don’t know her from a bar of soap or even if she had the courage to use her own name, but my suggestions were that she find a religion off which she could leech, go on food stamps or perhaps seek employment in the formal sector, with a view to attaining self-respect. I called the correspondence which set it all off, verminous and pathetic. Leta McWilliams spammed me.
The e-mail she sent me contained a link to a site. The site automatically redirected me to the a piece of PR from Parafin Corp, obviously hustling for stock trades, having not enough to recommend them to the attention of those on the floor of the stock exchange or on Wall Street, or wherever.
I found a Parafin Corp website. The ‘about us’ section was empty. So much for the courage of that company’s convictions. A search on Leta McWilliams yielded a site under that name that appeared to be an on-seller for ‘get-rich-quick’ schemes. A second search, a day later, showed that the site had vanished. No doubt this person decided to retreat under a barrage of e-mails similar to mine.
Why did Leta McWilliams spam me? She got hold of a mail address from one of my sites and decided that I would be a likely prospect. What does she know about me? Absolutely nothing, other than the fact that I have an e-mail address. That was my qualification for receiving the spam concerning Parafin Corp.
E-mail and internet are a vital part of my life. They allow me to stay home and work, instead of filling space in an office and annoying everyone with bad metaphors and gratuitous enthusiasm. The last thing I want is spam clogging up my inbox. Yet I regularly receive mails for cheap Viagra and antidepressants, unclaimed prizes worth millions, computers which I won’t buy, ‘get-rich-quick’ schemes and lousy stock picks that don’t have enough to recommend them otherwise.
The few seconds I spend every day, deleting them is a major irritation. And when I occasionally open one to see what the latest method to get past my ISP’s spam filter entails, I feel a surge of irritation that leads to me writing abusive mails to Leta McWilliams and her ilk.
Unfortunately, the only way not to receive spam is not to have an e-mail address, or not to publish it, even though the point of my having a certain type of e-mail address is so that people can get in contact with me to pass comment on that which I have written, a far more valid reason than displaying their inability to earn money in a way that involves more self-respect than sending spam.
In the ‘good old days’ of snail mail, I used to receive a number of offers in my mail box. These had certain redeeming features. I could use them as a vent for any pent-up frustration by briskly ripping them up and throwing them in the trash can. I could collect them and donate them to a school for use as paper mache. I could also use them to light fires. Occasionally, I would even open one with a view to buying something, but this was a very rare event.
Spam is different. I can think of no use for used bytes.
As far as I know, spam occupies in excess of eighty percent of all bandwidth. If your internet connection is slow, there is some validity in blaming it on spam. If the internet is indeed a highway, then the traffic jam is a result of a bunch of postal vehicles delivering a blizzard of unwanted junk mail that will not be welcomed or read.
As much as toxins pollute the air, spam pollutes our communication channel. And as much as the shouts of fools and their friends prevent freedom of speech, so spam prevents us from communicating with those who matter.
I regret the anger that led me to write that e-mail. It leaves me feeling dirtied. But my regret will not change the fact that even had I the money, I would not even consider buying Parafin Corp stock.
Sorry all you spammers. You and your clients lose. Get out of my mailbox. It’s for important stuff. You are not important to me. You never will be.
Back to the archive • Previous • Next • Home
