The phone book companies are like gods that sit high atop a golden statue of Alexander Graham Bell. They look down on us and promise that if we make the correct sacrifices, they will stop throwing down their useless relics into our wet leaf piles and driveway aprons.
They require sacrifices of our precious time in the form of phone calls, filling out forms, and going to their websites to “easily” opt out. Most of all, they require the sacrifice of faith. Faith that if we make all the other sacrifices in the right order and enough times, if we truly believe they care about sustainability, they will grant our earnest and honorable pleas to stop throwing the $%@^#$ things at our houses.
These gods are dancing on Bell’s head right now, having a big ol’ party and laughing about how one Robin Shreeves of house number ______ on ______ Drive in New Jersey thought her sacrifices would work. They’re putting a tally mark on their “idiots who believed” chart and toasting their success in dashing another sucker’s faith.
Because my faith is dashed. I give up. I have been making sacrifices to the phone book gods since September 10, 2009. I get it now. They are not gods who care. They are gods who were trained by junior high girls who invite a classmate to a sleepover party just to stick her fingers in warm water while she sleeps so they can tell everyone in school on Monday that she wet her sleeping bag.
Like those junior high girls, the phone book company’s only reason for inviting any of us to opt out is for their own sick enjoyment.
I can’t take it any more. I’m going to start to look at the phone books that get delivered several times a year as kindling for my fire pit from here on out. It’s the only way to keep my sanity.
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