An Open Letter to a Retailer
Dear Barnes and Noble.com,
Can you please take me off your email mailing list. If I want to buy something from you I know where to find you, in fact that's how you found me. Are these mass e-mails anyway to treat a customer? I wake up in the morning and I see that I have a new message. My heart flutters with anticipation-- kind of like when a person's elbow accidently-deliberately gently and briefly touches the person s/he loves but can't have.--- I quickly type in hotmail into my firefox browser. Who could be emailing me? What wonderful sentiment awaits me? Am I invited to a party? Or to an intimate dinner? Maybe it's just someone who's merely thinking of me and wanted to say hi and find out all about how I was. The possiblities for internet affection and attention are endless. It's at this moment that broadband cable internet seems too slow. My fingers can't type my password in fast enough. Finally my inbox loads and there on my illuminated screen the opposite of love, but you, Barnes and Noble.com, trying to sell me books. My heart sinks, my solar plexus feels like it's been punched. I'm deflated. Defeated. Destroyed. Is that anyway to start a day? I'll tell you it is not. And with that I say good day to you, sir.
Sincerely,
Rachael Parenta
ps. how do you not wind up in my junk mail folder?
pps. If you want to chat and ask me how my day is I could be down for that.
Can you please take me off your email mailing list. If I want to buy something from you I know where to find you, in fact that's how you found me. Are these mass e-mails anyway to treat a customer? I wake up in the morning and I see that I have a new message. My heart flutters with anticipation-- kind of like when a person's elbow accidently-deliberately gently and briefly touches the person s/he loves but can't have.--- I quickly type in hotmail into my firefox browser. Who could be emailing me? What wonderful sentiment awaits me? Am I invited to a party? Or to an intimate dinner? Maybe it's just someone who's merely thinking of me and wanted to say hi and find out all about how I was. The possiblities for internet affection and attention are endless. It's at this moment that broadband cable internet seems too slow. My fingers can't type my password in fast enough. Finally my inbox loads and there on my illuminated screen the opposite of love, but you, Barnes and Noble.com, trying to sell me books. My heart sinks, my solar plexus feels like it's been punched. I'm deflated. Defeated. Destroyed. Is that anyway to start a day? I'll tell you it is not. And with that I say good day to you, sir.
Sincerely,
Rachael Parenta
ps. how do you not wind up in my junk mail folder?
pps. If you want to chat and ask me how my day is I could be down for that.
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