I always check the contents of the spam file on my e-mail before I eliminate it from my computer forever. I liken this activity to the cyber version of peeking inside the Kleenex after one blows his or her nose. You never know what might be in there, and it's always better to check. Amidst all those requests for my kind patience and help delivering some poor soul's life savings to his relatives here on the American shores, or perhaps some young thing would like me to know that her husband is away on business and should I be interested in virtually dropping by, or maybe there is some new wonder cure for a less-than-politely described ailment that the makers feel testing on me would be far less cruel than lab rats, is a message that inadvertently got misfiled.
This is a rare occurrence, admittedly, but every so often I have been rewarded with a note from a friend or relative who just happened to trip whatever switch my mail server has that directs anything over a certain size, or with an overabundance of recipients, or used too many verbs. When I find these little nuggets of truth, I congratulate myself for being just a little more clever than the machine that is supposed to know whom I want to correspond with and with whom I do not. Sometimes I stretch this definition a bit, just to keep that smug feeling alive. Like the coupons I rescued from the electronic waste bin. The ones for Doritos and Coca Cola. How did that get in there? Sure, I'm no great fan of the new Cinnamon and Chipotle style snack chips, but I can always use a good deal on the Real Thing. Of course, upon closer inspection, it required that I register for some service that would send yet another avalanche of spam my way, and so I finished up the operation by hitting the delete button. Maybe these newfangled doo-hickeys are good for something after all. I console myself with having the good sense to leave them turned on.