Empty Words

Going through the correspondence on my desk the other day, I was amazed at the emotion some soulless, faceless corporate entities can muster in a form letter.

The cell phone provider we recently dropped in favor of a cheaper system wrote to say how much they'd enjoyed our relationship (oh, yes, it was special) and how sad they were that we were leaving.

Breaking up is hard to do, even when it's a phone company.

Then there was a wistful little note from Quality Paperback Book Club -- which I quit some years ago. Evidently, they haven't gotten over it. They really, really miss me and wish I'd come back.

QPB misses me.

I imagine this scene between the head honcho at QPB and a flunky:

Flunky (agitated) : Sir? Sir? Are you all right? It's been years now and you just sit there at your desk, doodling her initials on the blotter . . .

Head Honcho (listlessly): I don't know. . . ever since Vicki dropped us, the sky doesn't seem as blue; the birds don't sing . . . Why? Tell me why did she do this to me? (Buries face in hands and weeps.)

I find my fun where I can.