An Intrusion of Spam

Whenever I want a good laugh, I take a look at my spam folder.

Oh, I don't open any of them, of course - I know better than to let the snakes out of that box! - but I like a peek now and then.

It's like looking out your window and seeing a line of people waiting, lined up on your front doorstep and down the walk. I won't let them in, and eventually they'll wander away or be swept away by my 'delete all' wind, sort of like those nannies in Mary Poppins, to be replaced by a new set. But I can peek out the window at them, and here's what I usually see:

The Auto Insurance Guy: He's wearing a cheap suit and carrying a shoddy briefcase, and behind his sunglasses his eyes are shifty. He wants my money, I know. Too bad for him I don't have any.

The Unsubscribe Here Woman: In stiletto heels, with a clipboard at her side, she looks vaguely annoyed. But she's got a large hound of some sort crouching next to her, slobbering on my sidewalk. He looks hungry, and I think my neck is probably just the right size for those jaws.

The Credit Card Man: Another cheap suit, and this guy's all excited, shifting from foot to foot. He keeps chanting, "YOUR NEW VISA CREDIT CARD IS WAITING!" in a high, whiny voice. I'm tempted to go out there and throw a flowerpot at him, but as I said, I'm scared of that dog.

The Russian Stud: These are the usual, though they change from day to day, but it's the next guy who really fascinates me. He's tall and built like a bull, with a huge fur coat and hat. His spam title is "YOUR RUSSIAN %@#$ IS WAITING!!" Oh, my. The first time I saw him, I laughed so hard I almost fell out of my chair. I mean, I'm a retired school teacher living in the country, with flowerbeds and overdue books. Who in their right mind thought I'd want a Russian stud in a fur coat on my doorstep? He's definitely in the wrong neighborhood, if not the wrong state.

The Guy with the Camera: And that goes for the creepy guy with the stringy hair behind him, holding a big camera and chanting, "I GOT YOUR SEXY PICTURES, BABE!" over and over. I'm hoping the Russian guy turns around and belts him.

Anyway, that's just the first five in line. Behind them are quite a few more, each with their own spiel. They're all waiting for me to just open the door a crack, so they can slither in and steal my life: rifle through my wallet, flip through my bank statements and my files, and then slip out, smirking, along with my identity, my money and my future. Some are pretty convincing - so convincing, in fact, that if I'm not careful, some morning I might walk into my kitchen and find one of them standing there, sipping from my coffee cup and peering into my laptop screen.

Ah, well. Time to press delete, and send them off, for now, at least - and, I think, to check my kitchen and the rest of my house, to be sure I don't have any unwelcome visitors. You do the same, my friend, and whatever you do, don't open that door.