Wham, spam
They say that spam is down by five percent. I'd like to know whose spam? Certainly not mine. By eight this morning, Bambi Knight wanted to sell me Viagra and addictive prescription medicines at 80 percent discount. Laverne Fontenot was concerned about the size of my male appendage. Roland Xiong invited me to trade on a stock that will 'rocket like a comet'. While Jasmine Presley wanted my bank account details by TONIGHT so she can give me a massive loan. I expect at least ten other similar messages today. And probably the same number again overnight.
Call me paranoid, but are these people even real? Take Bambi. Her email is identical to countless other exotically named spammers. Same goes for Laverne, Roland and Jasmine. It seems they are simply changing their names with every message they send. Which must satisfy their creative side. The spam itself certainly couldn't. To amuse myself sometimes, I imagine that there is really only one person behind all spam, a Wizard of Oz-type creature with an elaborate software programme. Sometimes, I imagine myself killing him.
When I first got a phone that receives email, I thought: 'Nifty, I can deal with things as I go; no major in-box tailbacks to wade through when I turn on the computer'. That night I began to reform my opinion as I learned that spammers, like bats, are nocturnal creatures. Every message was heralded by a vibration and three loud bleeps. I'd have turned off the phone had I not been (naively) concerned that its alarm might not go off in the morning. I think that's when I started to hate them.
Now, the phone remains off at night. And it is with resignation that I turn it on only to be greeted by someone offering IMMEDIATE cash to spend ANY way I like, NO STRINGS ATTACHED. Followed by someone else (or maybe the same person) asking that if a relaxing moment turns into the right moment, would I be ready (with my male appendage)? Or another offering a job that would involve accepting money into my account and sending it out the other side, for which I'd get a ten percent cut. (No mention of the potential prison sentence for money laundering.)
Constant bleeping interrupts my day. I could pretend I'm ultra-popular. But it's just too damn irritating. Last week, I almost deleted an email from someone I haven't seen in 20 years because I thought she was someone selling something. I did miss the first music gig of a guy I know, recognising his name only after I'd quickly deleted his message thinking it spam. I'm so fast at deleting it that I'm too fast.
But I'm lucky. I've never been tempted to reply. In the early days of spam, a friend of mine had his bank account emptied when he confirmed his details to someone claiming to be his bank. And how hard must it be for reformed gamblers to refuse the offer of depositing a100 euro with an online casino and playing with a400? Spammers aren't concerned with the ethics of bypassing the laws of individual countries that don't allow gambling to be advertised. Or addictive drugs to be sold without prescription. Or medication to be peddled for problems it's not indicated for, like Human Growth Hormone as an anti-ageing product. Very simply, they want our money. Sometimes giving something in return. Sometimes pretending to.
I said I've never been tempted to reply to spam. Check that. I'm regularly tempted. By way of revenge. The plan would be to spam the living daylights out of a chosen spammer, offering something they couldn't possibly want: a lonely sock that has lost its partner or a garden hose with just 500 leaks or a toothbrush with its bristles flattened by overuse but in an interesting shape. I'd bombard them with my spam three times a day, five times a night, until I get a result.
Knowing my luck, though, they'd request a toothbrush.
- Denise Deegan
