I hate junk mail. It's only purpose is to entice it's reader into buying a product that they wouldn't have ordinarily bought. I hate opening the mailbox and pulling out a handful of these propaganda-esque envelopes. Don't we all. But my hatred doesn't end there, no sir (or ma'am...), I've reached a whole new level of rage towards wayward mail just today.
Every Thurs.-Sat. I sort mail for the Webster-Dickinson cluster at UMass Amherst. Now, this job does entitle a slight propensity towards junk mail hatred, if the 3000+ spam I cleared out of my email account yesterday wasn't enough, but no, today I sorted 600 separate pieces of mail from Capital One. Free credit cards, hah, take it and they've got you hooked. But I digress... That wasn't what annoyed me really, I sort junk mail all the time (maybe a third of all mail I sort) but this time, I knew for a fact that not only was it junk mail that everyone was just going to throw out, also I found that none of them were going to the right persons. Each was addressed to the persons that lived in the dorms last year.
Therefore, as I finished, a steady stream of "misaddressed mail" flew into the box. It's nice to know that sometimes everything we do is utterly pointless. Or (possibly the only good spin I can put on it) tonight I helped facilitate a reversal of the chaotic breakdown of the universe into nothingness, I made things just a little more complicated. Besides, it's not like I had anything that I'd rather be doing with two hours of my time in the evenings. Right?
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