(Photo from the, um, Daily Mail)
Strange things happen with mailing lists, as everyone with a mailing address already knows. Still, I wonder why the direct-mail industry—which I read somewhere remains a great prop of the economy, even in the Internet age—can’t get things right.
As a journalist, I receive complimentary subscriptions to various periodicals that want to spread the word on what they’re publishing. Useful for me, and for them. Last year, two identical copies of one of these comp journals began to arrive. I notified the journal of the surplus copy. Nonetheless, for months, the duet delivery continued, despite further reminders from me. Then all delivery of the journal ceased—from two copies to no copies. My pleas for help brought assurances that they’re working on it. A few months after the initial alarm, single copies returned. Then came a deluge of the copies I had missed—two of each.
Once entered on a list for a sales catalog, a name and address not only remain there forever, but like windblown seeds drift on to mailing lists for other catalogs. Long ago, I purchased a marvelous telephone attachment that, at the touch of a keyboard button, set off bugles, raucous laugher, whistling bombs and explosions, screeching tires, baby cries, and so on. It was especially useful back in the days when telephone sales calls were unrestricted. The device eventually expired, probably from overuse. Ever since I made that purchase, I have been blanketed by catalogs jammed with an incredible variety of electronic gadgets. Included, it’s alarming to note, is an assortment of inexpensive devices for easy eavesdropping, indoors and outdoors. Failure to purchase is no deterrent to further catalog deliveries.
Even little organizations, with presumably small lists, can’t get things right.
A previous occupant of the house I live in departed from this address 35 years ago, yet a newsletter addressed to her by a small college continues to arrive. Possessing no forwarding address, and unwilling to bother, I toss ‘em as they arrive.
Finally, I am on the mailing list of a renowned emporium of fashion, Victoria’s Secret. Every few months, I receive a postcard that entitles the bearer to a pair of panties, gratis. I wonder how I got on that list. So does my wife.
