Kitchen Table Kibitzing 3/31/2018: Confessions of a Spammer

This morning, I opened the door to head out to my mailbox when I found a Chinese takeout menu hanging from my doorknob. This is only about the hundredth time this shitty Chinese restaurant has spammed the entire apartment complex with their takeout menu (you can tell our complex security is good). I have yet to get any orange chicken, as tantalizing as their junk makes it seem. After stepping back inside to throw the takeout menu away—again—I made my way to the mailbox, which was completely full. Except there was only one legitimate piece of mail. The rest of the mailbox was stuffed with ads, all of which immediately went to the trash (conveniently located right next to the mailboxes).

This series of minor inconveniences made me think of my very first job, which in turn made me think that maybe this was all just karma. See, long before I was old enough to fully appreciate how annoying junk mail is, I was (in a way) a distributor of junk mail. A real-life spammer, if you will.

I don’t remember how exactly I got the job. If I remember correctly, I think I saw an ad in the newspaper seeking delivery kids for something called the Warren County Guide. It sounds legitimate, but it was actually just a “newspaper” filled with ads. I imagine some people actually checked the Guide, but more than anything, I think it was just an annoyance for most folks, another thing to throw in the trash. Anyway, when I saw the job ad, all I saw were dollar signs, and it wasn’t long before I got my very own Guide route.

There were a number of problems with this “job,” and to this day I wonder why my parents even agreed to let me do it. First of all, the pay was extremely low, especially for the work required. I can’t remember how much exactly I got paid, but it couldn’t have been more than $100/month. Every Friday evening, a car arrived in our driveway and dropped off a couple of big stacks of freshly printed Guides, along with a pile of plastic bags. I had to fold them and stuff them into the bags, a process that took most of the evening, even with my parents’ help. On Saturday morning, when most normal people were sleeping in, we got up bright and early. We lived about 20 miles from Warren, where my Guide route was, so my dad had to drive me. My route included at least ten blocks, and it was all done on foot (excellent exercise, at least). Oh, and my poor dad who just spent gas money driving me to my barely-paying “job” also sometimes helped me deliver them. The longer I live, the more I realize that my dad was a saint. The things he did, just so I could “earn” about $20 of spending money every week.

Along my route, most houses were unfortunate enough to receive a Guide. I’d walk up to the door and toss it on their doorstep and then move on to my next victim. I had a list of houses that were on the do-not-deliver list, probably after they’d called the office and complained. It wasn’t uncommon for somebody to catch me delivering a Guide to their house and yell at me to stop. One time, a guy told his weiner dog to attack me, apparently trying to scare me away from his house. Being an outspoken young child, I wrote a letter to the editor in our local newspaper calling the man out and threatening to contact the law offices of Edgar Snyder should such a vicious weiner dog attack occur.

Eventually, we all got tired of the Guide-delivering job. My career as a real-life spammer ended after my parents agreed to raise my allowance in exchange for my resignation.

I still don’t know why my parents allowed me to have the job in the first place, but I would guess it was to teach me the value of a dollar. And that it did—spamming was hard work without the Internet.

NOTE: I’m probably not going to be around for the comments tonight. The BF and I are having a much-needed date night (if he’s lucky, I might let him drive the new Soul), and I doubt I’ll be home in time to host. As always, it’s an open thread. I’ll respond to comments as soon as I can.