Junk mail and randomness
What I spent a few minutes writing this weekend:
Dear Helpful Geico Company:
Thank you so much for your letter offering help with my car insurance expenses. The very idea of the prices one has to pay through other companies makes my head spin. Then add in extra charges if, say, one has had some trifling errors in judgment when hurrying to one's destination in the past, resulting in a few smudges on one's driving record, like that time I got caught going 72mph-- Well, you know how it is; life happens. I'm really thrilled you want to give me your company's assistance in dealing with these little problems. It's wonderful knowing you want to smooth my way, and relieve me of an excessive burden of debt due to outrageous premiums from all those less-altruistic companies out there.
Now, if only I still owned a car.
Don't you, the home insurance industry, mortgage refinance companies, auto glass replacement centers, etc., etc., have a way to find out little details such as whether someone possesses anything that would benefit from the aforementioned services? Especially those mortgage refinancers. I'd think the fact that my address includes an apartment number might give a clue. Hello? NOT A HOUSE! Nor a condo. Similarly, just because one has a license doesn't mean one has owned a vehicle within the last 10 years or so. Legally, the necessity is the other way around...to operate the presupposed vehicle, or even a rented/borrowed one, at any rate. What are all those companies I buy from thinking when they sell you those customer lists, anyway? Don't they screen for pertinent demographic info like this? (Plus, haven't any of them run a credit check on me to see if I can even afford a car? I should think the results of that alone would make anyone hastily purge me from their records as a dead loss.)
I won't even mention the multitudinous companies who automatically assume anyone female has children.
I do, however, take comfort in all the money you're wasting by putting me in your database; keeping a marketing/PR department running to come up with these coy little marketing ploys; and spending on printing costs, postage, and other office supplies, to send me useless mail for something I couldn't use even if I wanted it. All I have to do is recycle the junkmail. At least that provides more local employment opportunies for the recycling centers, despite the ensuing eco-problems that may be exacerbated.
Uncordially,
A Mass Transit Customer
(Not, of course, that I'm going to send this to them. No sense encouraging the nits. I really think I hate junk mail worse than I do spam...)
Oh, and the state trooper who pulled me over on the highway in the middle of Nowhere, eastern Washington, was very nice. (I dunno where he came from. We hadn't seen a building or another car for about 50 miles, and there wasn't anything to hide behind. It's like that out here, outside the cities. Uncrowded. Nice.) When he asked me if I had any idea how fast I'd been going, I replied, "Uhh...about 72, I think." He froze for a second, pulled his shades down so he could get a better look at me, and said slowly, "Do you know, that's the first time anyone's ever told me the truth when I caught them speeding?" I sort of boggled at him, wondering if honesty was something the academy hadn't trained 'em to deal with. Meanwhile, my husband Mike was snirtling at me from the passenger seat. (The ass. The one time I'm the one who gets pulled over, instead of him...) The trooper went on to say for being so honest and all - and I'd been correct on my speed, btw, got it right on the button; nice to know, that - he'd write up the ticket for only 10 over the limit. Thus saving me about $60, bless him. Then he politely refrained from laughing like a loon (Mike didn't) when he helped us out with directions. Yes, turned out I'd been speeding in the wrong direction. God bless the Washington State Highway Patrol.
And stop looking at me like that. When I learned how to drive, the 'suggested' freeway speed limit out here was 85mph. The first time I ever drove on a freeway, I found myself going 89, with Dad yelling at me to get the hell into the slow lane so everyone else could pass. A rather angsty moment at the age of 16. But you can't get anywhere out here if you meep along at 60.
In other news, I successfully got up to current events on Yarn Harlot's blog by Friday. Or thereabouts; everything's still a little fuzzy. I was right; I did miss her in Portland. At Powell's. Right again. But hey, she likes Portland. Ditto Seattle and Vancouver, of course. (What's not to like? Ok, well, if you don't like rain...I do. Although we do have sunshine during summer, y'know, despite the rumors. More on that tomorrow.) She also thinks Powell's is the best bookstore she's seen. (August 4, 2005) Thank you, Stephanie; we think so, too! (I had to giggle at her reaction to needing a map for the store. Well, it takes up an entire city block. Plus several stories.) Let's hope she makes it back on a tour for the new book. Me, I'm hoping to have all three of hers by tomorrow. Yay, Powell's.
Now it's time to finally to make something to eat. After I sneak out to drop off the rent check before it gets light outside. Now that we're on Daylight Savings Time - ptui - I've gotta keep an eye out for dawn at a different 'time'. It's a real PITA being agoraphobic, y'know?
Dear Helpful Geico Company:
Thank you so much for your letter offering help with my car insurance expenses. The very idea of the prices one has to pay through other companies makes my head spin. Then add in extra charges if, say, one has had some trifling errors in judgment when hurrying to one's destination in the past, resulting in a few smudges on one's driving record, like that time I got caught going 72mph-- Well, you know how it is; life happens. I'm really thrilled you want to give me your company's assistance in dealing with these little problems. It's wonderful knowing you want to smooth my way, and relieve me of an excessive burden of debt due to outrageous premiums from all those less-altruistic companies out there.
Now, if only I still owned a car.
Don't you, the home insurance industry, mortgage refinance companies, auto glass replacement centers, etc., etc., have a way to find out little details such as whether someone possesses anything that would benefit from the aforementioned services? Especially those mortgage refinancers. I'd think the fact that my address includes an apartment number might give a clue. Hello? NOT A HOUSE! Nor a condo. Similarly, just because one has a license doesn't mean one has owned a vehicle within the last 10 years or so. Legally, the necessity is the other way around...to operate the presupposed vehicle, or even a rented/borrowed one, at any rate. What are all those companies I buy from thinking when they sell you those customer lists, anyway? Don't they screen for pertinent demographic info like this? (Plus, haven't any of them run a credit check on me to see if I can even afford a car? I should think the results of that alone would make anyone hastily purge me from their records as a dead loss.)
I won't even mention the multitudinous companies who automatically assume anyone female has children.
I do, however, take comfort in all the money you're wasting by putting me in your database; keeping a marketing/PR department running to come up with these coy little marketing ploys; and spending on printing costs, postage, and other office supplies, to send me useless mail for something I couldn't use even if I wanted it. All I have to do is recycle the junkmail. At least that provides more local employment opportunies for the recycling centers, despite the ensuing eco-problems that may be exacerbated.
Uncordially,
A Mass Transit Customer
(Not, of course, that I'm going to send this to them. No sense encouraging the nits. I really think I hate junk mail worse than I do spam...)
Oh, and the state trooper who pulled me over on the highway in the middle of Nowhere, eastern Washington, was very nice. (I dunno where he came from. We hadn't seen a building or another car for about 50 miles, and there wasn't anything to hide behind. It's like that out here, outside the cities. Uncrowded. Nice.) When he asked me if I had any idea how fast I'd been going, I replied, "Uhh...about 72, I think." He froze for a second, pulled his shades down so he could get a better look at me, and said slowly, "Do you know, that's the first time anyone's ever told me the truth when I caught them speeding?" I sort of boggled at him, wondering if honesty was something the academy hadn't trained 'em to deal with. Meanwhile, my husband Mike was snirtling at me from the passenger seat. (The ass. The one time I'm the one who gets pulled over, instead of him...) The trooper went on to say for being so honest and all - and I'd been correct on my speed, btw, got it right on the button; nice to know, that - he'd write up the ticket for only 10 over the limit. Thus saving me about $60, bless him. Then he politely refrained from laughing like a loon (Mike didn't) when he helped us out with directions. Yes, turned out I'd been speeding in the wrong direction. God bless the Washington State Highway Patrol.
And stop looking at me like that. When I learned how to drive, the 'suggested' freeway speed limit out here was 85mph. The first time I ever drove on a freeway, I found myself going 89, with Dad yelling at me to get the hell into the slow lane so everyone else could pass. A rather angsty moment at the age of 16. But you can't get anywhere out here if you meep along at 60.
In other news, I successfully got up to current events on Yarn Harlot's blog by Friday. Or thereabouts; everything's still a little fuzzy. I was right; I did miss her in Portland. At Powell's. Right again. But hey, she likes Portland. Ditto Seattle and Vancouver, of course. (What's not to like? Ok, well, if you don't like rain...I do. Although we do have sunshine during summer, y'know, despite the rumors. More on that tomorrow.) She also thinks Powell's is the best bookstore she's seen. (August 4, 2005) Thank you, Stephanie; we think so, too! (I had to giggle at her reaction to needing a map for the store. Well, it takes up an entire city block. Plus several stories.) Let's hope she makes it back on a tour for the new book. Me, I'm hoping to have all three of hers by tomorrow. Yay, Powell's.
Now it's time to finally to make something to eat. After I sneak out to drop off the rent check before it gets light outside. Now that we're on Daylight Savings Time - ptui - I've gotta keep an eye out for dawn at a different 'time'. It's a real PITA being agoraphobic, y'know?