Junk faxes – die!

I’m working diligently today when the fax rings. Normally my fax filters out the spam in some magical way that encourages me to bow before its countenance and heap great piles of praise on its little plastic platform. Until this morning when one little bastard snuck through my fax’s steely firewall and printed its bad self out, wasting MY PAPER AND INK. Bad fax machine! Well, it is Monday…

The fax was an ad for a 4 day Bahamas cruise. What? thinks I, this isn’t business…it’s…it’s…SPAM.

Indignant, I looked for a number to call and berate them. Much to my dismay, there was a number I could call and have my fax number removed. I quote: “If you have received this fax in error, please call…” IN ERROR? Do I look like an idiot? First you spam me, then you play cute and coy? Argh! Die, fax spammers, die!

What happened to that Do Not Call registry we signed up for? Twice? Is this our government tax dollars sleeping at the wheel? Again?

I’d love to know why I have to call a number to request they don’t bug me and waste my paper. Isn’t that double intrusion? Why do I have to take time out of my day to tell them to quit wasting my supplies? What’s really the pisser is that I have no recourse other than to turn off my fax machine.

It’s not like the junk mail that comes in with their prepaid envelopes inviting me to insert my check for a bajillion dollars. Shoot, I just love those. I collect all my other junk mail and stuff them into the prepaid envelopes.

It’s not like the idiots who call at dinner time asking if I’d like to order a new set of encyclopedias. Heck, I love those guys too. When the kids were little, I used to ask the guy if he’d like to order some of my daughter’s candy she was selling for her softball team’s fundraiser. “Uh, uh…”

Nowadays we just ask them if they’d like a free boob job at our new clinic we set up in the alley, that we have a special – we’ll use clean knives from Jorge’s Macho Tacos and offer a free bottle of Jack Daniels (the airline size). That never fails to get a reaction. We had one phone solictor with a very thick southern accent laugh until I think his heart stopped beating. Hey, it beats letting my blood pressure rise.

Which gets me back to my Bahamas vacation fax. I’m a get-even type of gal, so this is inability to strike back is very frustrating. There’s no victory in calling a number and requesting to be removed. I want my vengeance. I want to go to Ralph’s grocery store and scream right there in the middle of the vegetable aisle, “Company XYZ sends out spam faxes!” I want patrons to be horrified to the point where Company XYZ goes belly up, and they’re forced to pick strawberries for .45 an hour.

Then again, I may be classified as being a distant relative of those vegetables as they slap a straight jacket on me and cart me off for anger management classes…May be time for a Reiki session.