Earlier in the year I received a solicitation from an organisation I do not and cannot and will not support financially. I scribbled on the overly-familiar, first-name sprinkled letter that I was unwilling to contribute and would appreciate being removed from the mailing list. I sent it back to them in the postpaid envelope.
I am aware, from press reports, that this organisation is financially strapped.
Last week, I received another solicitation. Again, my name was planted throughout the form letter, and the tone was one of nausea-inducing chumminess. And I was thanked for my past support and loyalty.
Enraged, I ripped the letter into small pieces. While stuffing the pieces into the postpaid envelope I had a brain wave.
I'd received a mail order catalog--for shoes, I think--and it was lying on the counter, a temporary way station on the way to the recycling bin.
I started ripping out catalog pages and folding them up and filling the postpaid envelope with them till it wouldn't hold any more. Then I sealed it. It was so fat I had to tape down the flap.
"That'll show 'em!" I said, handing the envelope over to the Chap so he could feel the heft of it. "And this time, it's gonna cost 'em."
You know how sometimes writing a letter just to vent is supposed to be cathartic? It's the sort of letter that should never, ever be sent. I sort of felt that way about the chunky envelope. For several days--my cooling down period--I left it on the counter.
Was I really mean enough, petty enough, to post it? I wasn't sure.
But yesterday I did drop the massive postpaid envelope into the mailbox that stands in front of our church.
Do I feel better for making a financially strapped organisation pay dearly for an envelope filled with rubbish? Not a lot. Am I going to beat myself up about it? Not for long. In the catalogue of my sins, this isn't a biggie.
Maybe I should've just thrown the solicitation into the recycling bin. Or, to vent my wrath, I could've run it through the shredder. Driven to the edge, I felt the need to do something more. Something worse. Something that might get noticed.
Sending the overstuffed envelope doesn't adequately express my anger and frustration. It's not that strong a punishment. Nor do I assume it's the last contact I'll have from the detested organisation, which has already proved its tenacity.
It was the only way I knew to fight back. And the fact that I was provoked into fighting back at all says a lot.... About the soliciting entity...and even more about me.