Invasion of the Fun Snatchers

Does anyone feel like the excitement has been taken out of things? Yesterday, I walked to my mailbox and I can’t describe the disappointment I felt when I opened it to find two stacks of mailers. It was coupons and promotions for just about everything you can imagine from carpet cleaning, window replacements, tires, pizzerias and so on. I thought of the numerous stacks of paper that go directly from my mailbox to the trashcan. This can’t be an environmentally safe practice, can it?

As I walked back to the house, I remembered my childhood. I used to truly be excited about the mail. Each time I arrived home from school, if the mail hadn’t been checked, I would race out to see what was in the box. Somehow, it felt vaguely like Christmas not knowing what was going to be delivered that day. Even if there was nothing for me, I would shuffle through each envelope, excited just to see what was there. I also remember my first pen pal, which was organized by the school I was attending at the time. Once we began corresponding, it left me with a certain anticipation. After I had mailed a letter, I would anxiously await a response, diligently checking the mail until I received one.

Today, the fun and excitement I used to feel has completely disappeared. My mailbox seems to be a marketing tool, more useful to direct mailers than it is to me. Now when I check the mail, I pray the box is empty. In a year of deliveries, probably sixty percent of it is junk -- coupons and mailers that I have never used. And when I say never, I mean exactly that. I have no memory of having ever used a coupon or a promotion that was sent to my house. Still, each week I throw out stacks and stacks of improperly used paper. In addition to the junk I receive, I probably have about thirty-five percent of my mail, which is bills or someone asking for money. And then in the remaining five percent, perhaps half is desired correspondence, just as it used to be in the good old days. I’m talking birthday cards, Christmas cards, or an occasional letter. But still, the thrill of receiving mail is gone, lost to the commercialization of direct marketing.

Last month, while in New York, some friends and I went out for a Friday night on the town. One of our stops was 230 5th Avenue, which features a rooftop bar with a fantastic view. As we arrived, there was a small line to enter. When we got to the front of the queue, the trendily dressed doorman asked if we were on *The List.* I immediately smiled because I knew what this meant. My friend Alessandro (who hails from Milan, Italy) answered “no” and confirmed that we weren’t on any list. The doorman proceeded to explain that it was customary for people who weren’t on the list to purchase a bottle of champagne for a mere $250. But because we were *nice,* we would only be asked to pay $125 for the four of us. What a bargain I thought, but not one I felt inclined to pay for.

By now, Alessandro was miffed. He had been to this bar several times and had never been asked to purchase champagne. He turned to his wife, Deborah (also Italian) and began discussing whether or not we should pay in their native tongue. The doorman’s boss, an older Mafioso looking gentleman, immediately changed his posture when he heard native Italian speakers. With a wave of his hand, we were rushed into the building with no further talk of champagne.

But for me, the fun had already been ruined. All of us would have been amenable to paying a reasonable cover charge for the privilege of buying expensive alcohol on the roof of this building. But instead a foolish game had been played. The entire conversation felt like junk mail in the box. I remembered what fun it had been in the good old days when I entered a club, but this time it was more nostalgia that I felt than anything else. I longed for the old excitement that I used to share, that anticipation of something good to come. After leaving 230 5th Avenue, all of us boogied down to the Beauty Bar [see photo] where no champagne was required. It was interesting to learn that Beauty Bar was actually a hair and nail salon by day, and a bar and dance club by night.

The time has come for a shift in focus. For centuries, the goal has been “How do we make money,” which explains why I have stacks of coupons and promotions in my mailbox, which explains why if I’m not deemed “trendy” enough, attempts are made to dupe me into buying $250 bottles of champagne. But the truth of the matter is all of it is just junk and the junk takes the fun out of it.