Junk Mail

This weekend was mostly uneventful. Ok, there was the incident with the photo and the hysterics, but otherwise calm. It was calm except for the point at which I heard the mail slot open over my right shoulder as I typed away at my desk on Sunday afternoon. Yeah, maybe I was checking out the Sunday Sweets, sue me.  When we first moved here, the noise of the little door opening and snapping shut could almost make me jump out of my skin.

Eventually, I learned the time of day the mail carrier came by and grew used to the junk mail peddlers who dropped their leaflets in at the odd times as well. I grew used to finding leaflets stuffed between the door and the frames of the little storage units outside my flat. (You would think the brainiac dropping junk mail might notice that those doors have no mail slots and you have to duck to get in them. Do they think I have a row of midget neighbors who aren’t allowed to get mail?)

One night in November, I was in the kitchen to get some water around 3:30 am, and saw some scary figure pop religious material in.  How could I be angry that someone invited me to celebrate Christmas at their church?  Perhaps I was annoyed that they invited me at 3:30 in the morning.  I definitely love strange noises in the night, though. When it’s good and dark. In a new flat. In a new city. And the inviter is hooded in the cold.  It’s awesome.

So, back to Sunday.  I heard the mail slot open, but I didn’t hear it shut immediately after I heard it open. I turned my head to see a hand holding it open. So I called out to the weirdo holding my mail slot open too long and perhaps peeking into my home, “hello?!” A few moments later, apparently after dropping a business card type advertisement in (because I found one on the floor), the mail slot door dropped closed again. Through the peep hole I could see a man sauntering away.

Seriously.  Who lets these strangers into our building to litter in our homes?!  What I am saying is that these random people are walking around sliding advertisements and coupons in mail slots.  The way I see it, since they didn’t pay to mail it to me, they are littering in my home.  They are throwing their trash in my foyer.  Rude beyond rude!

I will not be calling EC1 Car Services unless they are the last taxi operating in London and I don’t qualify for an ambulance.

I’ve left a little note for the next curious cat.

I mean it, slick. Back up.