Mailing It In

A news report recently declared that mail delivery may soon be cut down, and eventually go away, seemingly yet another plan designed to remind me that I am getting wicked old. 

A few decades ago, getting the mail was the highlight of my day. Our mailman was so dependable, I’d know the exact time of his arrival (10:20 a.m. on Saturday), and like one of Pavlov’s mice, the sound of his work shoes climbing our stairs and the metal mailbox opening and closing would trigger instant joy as I ran to the door to gather the treasures.

Waiting for me in that magic box were wonderful things like giant toy catalogs, cards with cash in them, Highlights magazine and handwritten notes from my pen pal on the other side of the world with air mail stamps on it.

As I got older, the box would burst in abundance with fashion magazines and shopping catalogs, one so awesome I once paid $3/year to have it sent to me. When I started earning my own money, I ordered “stuff” from those catalogs- everything from clothes to furniture. Back in the day, you could order COD, or ask to be billed after you received the goods- sort of like a credit card but with no credit charges and no card. Or like a backwards layaway where you got the items first and paid for them later.

We also took the time to write each other notes, put a stamp on them, and walk them down to the mailbox, a process which could easily be stretched out to take half a day if you milked it long enough because back then, there wasn’t a lot else going on.

Hand writing notes were safer than whipping off an email, because if you wrote something you had second thoughts about, you’d have plenty of time to destroy it before you sent it, perhaps reopen it and read it again to make sure it sounded OK (which is why I always had way more thank you cards than envelopes to put them in), or you could always wait around the mailbox you dropped it in at the exact time the mail would be picked up and beg the postal worker to give it back to you so you can destroy it (Note: I’ve never personally done this).

Email is just not the same. The send button is dangerous, and known to cause the end of relationships and jobs alike. It’s just too easy to launch into an email diatribe ripping someone or something apart, and send it off without thinking (Note: I’ve never done this either), only to discover perhaps you sent it to the wrong person, or the information you went off about wasn’t true to begin with, or the recipient apologized and asked you to put the issue behind you without realizing the vile they would soon receive accompanied by the pleasant ‘you’ve got mail’ song. It’s a sickening feeling to realize there is nothing you can do about it but send yet another email trying to take back the first one, perhaps with something in the subject line like please do not read my first email (OK, maybe I’ve done this).

Or perhaps you could set up a vent email address (like bethventing@whatever.com) and anything short of kind and loving comments, send there first. That will give you a chance to receive it and read it as the sender would, first with joy of receiving a new email that isn’t spam, and next with repugnance and shock at its hateful contents. (although I have definitely never done this, it seems like a fine idea).

But here’s a better idea. Instead of sending everything by email, let’s go back to dropping a hand written note in the mail every now and then, while we still can.