BJ Not BK

     I don’t get mail much.  No one writes personal letters or cards much anymore.  Sure, there are the Christmas cards, but nothing overly personal, nothing to make you feel really special, cared about, thought about.  I don’t know what it is but there is something exciting about the mail.  Maybe it is the possibilities, maybe it is the unknown?  What will be brought today?  Unfortunately most of my mail these days consists of pre-approved credit card and home mortgage notices.  We do get the occasional Pottery Barn catalog as well as our monthly Runner’s world and Christianity Today subscriptions but other than that not much to talk about.

What really gets me going these days are how crafty the bulk mailers are getting.  You know, the envelopes that look like tax returns, or the ones with the print that is suppose to look like someone hand wrote the address?  If you aren’t’ to careful you could just get sucked into believing that someone, somewhere sent you a note.  You could for just one brief moment experience a minute taste of existential nirvana where you are living in the moment, for the moment when all of a sudden you are violently ripped away and thrust back into reality.

While the envelope looked authentic, the handwriting appeared genuine just one detail gave it all away, exposed the hoax for what it was, shattering all hopes in the future of humanity.  What is it you ask?

Your name on the address followed by……”or Current Resident.”

So what are you saying?  Mr. bjnotbk we sent this specifically to you because you are very important to us but if for some reason you are not there then anyone else on the planet will do.  Actually, if this never makes it to bjnotbk please, anyone, anywhere, fill free to open it.

And just when I was beginning to feel special.