Dear Credit Card Company,
I have asked MULTIPLE times to be removed from your mailing list. I have sent polite letters asking to be removed. I have sent sternly worded letters asking to be removed. I have sent short notes written in ALL CAPS in red crayon (sometimes purple) demanding to be removed from the mailing list. Some of these efforts were effective with some credit card companies, but alas, my previous efforts to be removed from your mailing list were clearly not effective.
I realize the person opening this envelope and reading my letter is likely not the person who’s also in charge of the distribution lists. Still, you’re part of the same company. Surely you have a way to communicate to someone who maintains the distribution lists and are able to tell him or her to stop sending me credit card offers. I would certainly appreciate it if you could communicate to that person to remove me from the list.
Most of the time, I avoid using a credit card. I use cash or my debit card. Even then, I refrain from using my debit card at certain stores because of their policy to send MY shopping information to third-party vendors. For example, Target—using some complex algorithm—deduced from my purchases that I was pregnant because I bought X, Y and K: their algorithm told them that meant I was pregnant. They sent my information to a bunch of baby stuff vendors. I’d like to point out that Bandaids, vinegar, and face cream aren’t related to babies.
I wasn’t pregnant. In retrospect, perhaps if I had purchased condoms on that trip, it would have bumped me out of the matrix that wrongly calculated I was pregnant. It wasn’t until I received a free package of baby formula (Yay! Baby White Russians!) in the mail that I realized I had ended up on a mailing list for MULTIPLE vendors selling baby stuff. It took a lot of effort to get off those mailing lists.
As a result of Target selling my information to third-party vendors, I immediately cancelled the Target credit card I had (and rarely used), and reduced how often I shop there. And I never use a credit or debit card when I shop there. Instead, I pay in cash so they have no way of tracking me. And I dress incognito and wear a tin foil hat when I go so I cannot be identified and tracked throughout the store (Just kidding! I don’t do that. That’s paranoid.).
Finally, despite all the advantages one credit card seems to claim over another (Earn points! Earn travel points! We’ll pay your heating bill! Earn points for a unicorn!), these rewards programs are not actually that rewarding. I have found that redeeming the points and acquiring said unicorn is a long and arduous process, and the point system suffers from severe inflation. (345 points should have been enough to get a unicorn, I would think, but alas, no. It was barely enough to get a small piece of lint from the pocket of the Credit Card CEO.) I would prefer not to have to spend over $10,000 on a credit card before I’m able to redeem the points for a small pot of petunias.
Why do I not just ignore these offers and throw them in the trash? Well, 1. It’s hard to ignore the massive envelopes in the mail. 2. It’s a waste of paper. 3. I have to shred these offers before disposing of them, and it’s a whole process. I shred them because I live in a neighborhood where people regularly sleep in dumpsters. Identity theft rings go through dumpsters to find this very information and can potentially open a credit card in my name. I would very much prefer this doesn’t happen, for obvious reasons.
Shredding is, in itself, a process because I must remove the letters from the envelopes, risk severe paper cuts, then unfold the letters before I put them through the shredder, lest the shredder make a noise like a dying peacock, recite Dylan Thomas’ Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night, shine a bright red light, then stop working until it cools off from overheating. I would have selected more durable shredder had I known this one was so particular, but the more durable ones don’t know poetry, or any literature at all. They only know Kayne West songs, and that’s unacceptable.
Instead of shredding these, I would prefer they didn’t even come into my mailbox. It would save me the frustration of shredding them, but more so, it would save your company. It takes resources and money to constantly send these credit card offers to potential customers. And in case I didn’t make it quite clear, I AM NOT A POTENTIAL CUSTOMER. The cost of the paper (offer, plus two envelopes), the postage (both to get here, and the return service pre-paid postage), plus the labor of opening and reading my responses must add up. Think of the trees!
Should you continue sending me these offers, however, I will certainly continue taking advantage of the pre-paid return postage on the envelopes. Perhaps next time I shall send comic strips, or images from the National Geographics I receive (I hope no one’s afraid of spiders!), spare cat fur that’s prevalent in my apartment, or write some (likely bad) poetry. It would be something like:
“I do not like these credit card offers
I do not like what you proffer.
I don’t like getting your letters
I would rather not be a debtor.”
I was never very good at writing poetry, I must concede. But how horrible for you that you have to read that! It’s worse than Vogon poetry, I think.
In conclusion, I’m simply asking for you to stop sending me stuff. If you were a person, and not a company, this would border on stalking. I’m sorry; I’m just not interested. It’s not you; it’s me. Actually, it is also kind of mostly you. But can we agree to going back to not being friends? I mean, I don’t hate you, I just don’t want you in my life. I would greatly appreciate it if you would take me off your mailing list.