You've Got Mail

Nicole, if you’re reading this, the Sacred Heart mission has been on again looking for more money. I guess Scott was right. You give once to these bleeding heart charities and they’ll keep trying to suck more out of you. Mind you he can’t talk. He thought investing in all those American companies was child’s play and the only time they would write to him was to tell him that his latest dividend cheque was now nesting in his account. Little did he think that the global financial crisis would mean those companies would end up writing to him every month looking for more cash?

Capital raising is the latest buzzword among big companies as they desperately try to get out of this crisis. Luckily they have a database of greedy capitalists known as shareholders that they can write to. And that’s where most of Scott’s mail is coming from these days. Invest in these companies once and just like the charities, they’ll keep coming back to you for more.

You can learn a lot about somebody from their post. I should know, I’ve been getting a lot of it lately. The previous tenants in my apartment had clearly set up a one year redirection of their mail, because I got nothing for them for the first twelve months that I lived here. That all changed one day when the Post Office computer system reverted back to normal. Suddenly I started getting more mail for them than I was getting for myself. I don’t get much, it has to be said. I’ve gone down the green route and get most of my stuff by email and I’m paranoid about those little boxes on websites that ask you if you want to be kept up to date on the company’s promotional activities, upcoming offers and every other devise that evil marketing people can think of. I have a particular rule that I invoke which means that I refuse to use websites in the future that have this pre-ticked box and leave it up to the customer to un-tick if they don’t want to be bombarded with a mountain of junk mail. It does mean that I’ve missed out on Jetstar’s offer of $5 flights to Bali, but there is a price to be paid for Principle.

Nicole obviously failed to un-tick the appropriate boxes because she’s been inundated by mail from every dodgy promotion office this side of Las Vegas. The Smith family help disadvantaged Australian kids. They run most of their fund raising around Christmas and back in 2006 I guess husband Scott was upping his investment in Altria at around the same time as the TV was running ads with pictures of malnourished children. The price of capitalism and greed is paid by the conscience. As Scott was writing out cheques to his broker, Nicole was balancing the books by paying a little to the Smith Family. Little did she know that they would spend most of the money she gave them on promotional literature that would end up back in her mailbox, or mine as it is now.

And I think she made a mistake one day in the centre of Melbourne. Chuggers stand on every major intersection and pounce on anyone who looks vaguely middle class and whose heart sinks at the sight of poor children, animals or criminals locked up in foreign prisons. These charity muggers operate in teams and act like lions on the African plains as they track down and surround the weakest of the herd. Nicole was clearly that one day. But she should have realised that her first year’s direct debits to Amnesty International would have gone to the chugger’s employers and that most of her future payments would be spent by Amnesty printing literature to ask her for more money. While I’m at it, I should point out to Amnesty that Guantanamo Bay is about to be closed, so can they stop writing to Nicole about it. As someone said on TV today, it’s a sure sign of the recession when torturers are being laid of.

Apart from keeping the family conscience clear, it was also Nicole’s job to look after the cultural side. She obviously enjoyed that Matisse Picasso exhibition at the Arts Centre because she asked them to add her to their mailing list. From the post Scott gets, it’s clear that he is a philistine. Gym club memberships and company reports make up his in-box. I like to think of him being dragged along to the exhibition and then embarrassing Nicole by saying to the guide that he thought Picasso’s first name was Pablo.

I’ve been meaning to drop Nicole and Scott’s mail down to the letting agency, but the only time I can make it there is on Saturday mornings. But somehow their mail does seem important enough to get me out of bed on my morning of rest. I guess they had the good sense to write to all the major people like banks, taxman and family to tell them of their new address. I just get the junk. The charities and the companies that Scott invested in but would rather not think about now. The last ten years have seen an explosion in communication methods from email to text messages. Snail mail seems so old fashioned now. Left to ones who want to send you brochures and twenty Christmas cards, mouth painted by people with no arms and legs (charged to your credit card Nicole, unless you write back within 30 days!).

We move house and we throw out the junk when we do. But I think we forget that some junk just keeps coming at us. It’s hard to know how many boxes you ticked in the past asking to be added to mailing lists. It’s even harder to remember how many boxes you failed to tick asking not to be added to such lists. Somewhere in Ireland, the unfortunate person who bought my house before the property market crashed is faced with the additional dilemma of dealing with my unwanted post. If they are reading this, I can but apologise. And if Nicole is reading, can you contact all those charities and ask them to change your contact details? And dump Scott, the man invested in Phillip Morris who make cigarettes. He doesn’t deserve a lady who likes Matisse.