To Whom It May Concern

 I confess that the only time I think about my email's spam folder is when a message squeaks through and reminds me of a special offer in which only I can participate. Well, I huff, this should obviously have been caught by the bot that is in charge of making these kinds of discernment. At which point I congratulate myself for being clever enough to know spam when I see it, and not the potted meat kind. Certainly there are those lonely days when I will foolishly click on one of these errant attempts to capture my attention simply because no real person has bothered to contact me over the course of a day. Not a huge surprise here, since I am fond of communication and a 2014 study suggested that at least ninety percent of all electronic mail can be classified as Spam. 

Then, the other day I was encouraged by a colleague to "check in your spam to see if that gift certificate I sent you got stuck in there." I have heard of such things happening. Once you creep up past a certain number of recipients, even the most personal and benign message can slip into the forbidden zone. Only a periodic check of the cracks and crevices into which such items might fall would allow one to discover treasure beyond their wildest imaginings.

Or, maybe they would find the mess I discovered. Once I chose to go ahead and open the door to Fibber McGee's closet, I flinched in anticipation of what I might find. It would be far too simple a task to expect that I would find that one message, clearly marked "here's your gift card" right at the top of the stack. 

Nope. 

The first page of errant missives were from the day before. Looking back more than a day meant wading through hundreds of emails from helpful folks who wanted me to look into this or that financial opportunity or support them by simply sending them some personal information that would unlock all kinds of wonderful. Searching for "gift card" was another option. The one that provided me with a long list of offers to get things free and no obligation if I would only send them that personal information that I was avoiding sending to that first group. 

This is when I felt complete and utter gratitude for the work that this little bit of technology was performing for me each and every day. By the hour, from the looks of it, my spam filter was lifting out all those innocuous bits of email that would at the very least cause me to wonder if I really knew a Mrs. Jane Valerian, who hoped that I would take on her humanitarian cause and blah blah blah. Not even tempted, thanks to the dedicated efforts of the filter we call spam. 

I suppose that when I finally discover that gift card, I could just forward it on to my friendly neighborhood Spam-er Man. If I could only figure out his/her address.