A dump truck pulled up to my house the other day. That familiar scream from its rear warning siren burned a hole in the air as it backed into my driveway, lifted its payload bay and discarded its contents upon my yard.
The day’s supply of Christmas catalogs had arrived. With rake in hand, I thanked the driver, told him I would see him tomorrow and went about scattering the glossy magazines about the yard.
My goodness, it has been a bountiful harvest.
There are so many. All shapes and sizes. All makes and models — species and breeds. Every variety. Every taste. It scares me, and yet, it’s also kind of exciting. Christmas is coming my friends — get out the shovel!
I do and I don’t hate Christmas catalog season, when the glossies emerge from whatever nooks and crannies they’ve been hibernating in and swarm the world like hordes of termites. “Don’t” because they swell my mailbox, making it look like a blowfish sucking on an air hose, the poor thing giving at the seams and holding on for dear life.
My coffee table is bent under their weight, the recycling bin requires me to hire a man and his burro to help carry them out and no sooner does a new batch go, a new one knocks at the door.
An organization called New American Dream counts cutting down junk mail as one of its causes, and keeps a fascinating fact sheet with all manner of incredible statistics from agencies like the U.S. Postal Service. For instance, the estimated weight of catalogs and other direct mail in the U.S. waste stream is 5.6 million tons. Each U.S. Postal worker delivers in a year 17.8 tons of bulk mail, equivalent to four elephants.
Then this one: The amount of time the average American in a lifetime spends opening bulk mail is 8 months. Wo! That’s the one that grabbed me, and if true, that’s terrifying. I don’t just open it, I read it!
Yet … any other time of the year I’m annoyed. But in Florida, where you don’t get a turning of the leaves or a deluge of oranges, golds and browns to announce the coming of the holidays, you have to rely on the first sign of catalogs.
And I’m a sucker for off-the-wall ones with names like, “Crap you use once and then stick in a closet” or “Money Sucker.” They must have gadgets and tools that look like they were designed for 1950s sci-fi films. Things like retro looking hair dryers that double as cake mixers. Combs that also serve as toothbrushes. Leg shavers that will go with you outside and scrape ice off your windshield. How about a bedside clock radio that brews coffee and does your checkbook?
Home Depot sent a catalog with fake Christmas trees, fake fireplaces and a faux leather magazine basket just perfect for all those holiday catalogs. Don’t know why I found it so strange, but they also offered up a meat slicer.
Hard to Find Tools is the kind of catalog that, no kidding, gets my pulse up. Never before have I wanted “supple” leather slippers, but I think about wearing them while using one of their many tools, say the remote control lock or the grill thermometer that alerts you by radio when your food is ready.
They sell a digital breathalyzer, and while I’ve never needed a snow blower before, it could be fun.
I dog-ear a couple pages and return it to the stack.
Another catalog sells items that no one in their right mind could ever need, but obviously someone buys. Take, for instance, the baseball with the American constitution on it. I’m still trying to make the connection. They also sell a money clip with a knife and a nail file in it. I think the tagline should read: “Instead of getting mugged, strike back! And then do your nails while waiting on the cops.”
So much to see, so much to buy. Did I read the other day that Hummer is coming out with its own cologne? How come I didn’t get that catalog? Must be tomorrow, when the dump truck pulls up again and the catalog raking begins again.