You’ve Got (Unwanted) Mail

The General and I were out shopping recently and eventually approached the counter to pay for our few wares. The young woman who came to serve us was buoyantly attractive with the cartoon appeal of those sloe-eyed creatures (without pores) who inhabit many an Instagram account.

“So, guys,” she said brightly – but slowly – in the manner of someone who has very recently attended a (mandatory) customer service seminar. “We’re going to start off by getting an email or phone number, ‘kay?”

The General leaned in to me and observed, sotto voce: “Is this an interview? I just wanted to buy toothpaste …”

Love this man.

When I explained, quickly and rather pleasantly I thought, that I would prefer not to share this information, it was not well received. Her eyebrows (recently applied with a chiseled Sharpie?) descended like windows being quickly closed against the rain and the banter was clearly over. The remainder of the transaction was completed in an uncomfortable, pouty silence. Regretfully I have to report that I chose to fill the vacuum myself with insane, elaborate explanations of why I do not give out my phone number or email but she remained unmoved. I was then humiliated wondering why I must try and persuade everyone to like me.

But here’s the thing.

The media sensationalizes the perils of being hacked, hinting all the while that the main targets are vulnerable older folks who clearly do not know any better, warning that an alternative email address for signing up for anything online is a necessity. (Everyone knows this right?) Yet, when I do not wish to offer up my personal information I am made to feel like a churlish curmudgeonette who doesn’t know enough to just trot out the information already, like everyone else.

Very uncool at the least.

If I am being honest, the reality is that I simply do not wish to have a fresh tide of emails crushing me every morning with offers I do not want/need. I am done with panic-agreeing to these things in the moment and then coming home to immediately seek out the “unsubscribe” button in privacy.

And yes, I know this poor woman is just doing her job. I have worked in public service myself. I get it. But all she had to do was offer up the ubiquitous and insincere “Not a problem” and move on. Fortunately, The General and I kept reenacting the incident during the day and reigniting our laughter because we are simple people that way.

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