My Corner of Alaska: Paradox in the Mailbox

For a few minutes the other day I stopped what I was doing to watch the afternoon floatplane land. The wind in Tenakee Inlet was from the east so the boxy yellow Beaver came in just below the level of our front windows and seemed to be headed right for us before it turned up wind to land in front of town.

There were three pieces for me in that day’s mail: a father’s day gift and note from my daughter and two letters. I noticed that neither of the letters carried first class postage. The first was from one of several insurance companies who write regularly to remind me that they are standing by, ever at the ready, should I need their help in facing down any one of life’s many looming disasters. To be sure that I’m paying proper attention, they spell out in detail the exact nature of the looming disasters that might at this very moment be descending upon me. Fire, flood and run-away buses are mentioned. Unemployment, heartbreak and despair are not.

The other letter was from one of several banks that frequently correspond with me. I find it quite puzzling that I hear from as many banks and insurance companies as I do. Only one of the banks has their hands on any of my money and I hear from them only once a month when they send me, first class, a sheaf of papers that I dutifully add to a fat stack of similar papers and then forget about until the next month.

All the other banks seem to be under the impression that I owe money all over town because they beg shamelessly for the privilege of giving me as much of their money as I might possibly want so that I can pay off all the others and thereby have a more relaxed and carefree life.

They send pictures of people leading relaxed and carefree lives. They do not seem to be aware that I already have a pretty relaxed life and that, except for my tabs at the bakery and the store, I hardly owe any money to anyone.

It turns out, also, that one must read their letters with considerable diligence in order to find the part about paying the money back. In fact, they rarely mention that it has to be paid back at all. One must look very carefully for the clues. I urge great caution to anyone else who gets this kind of mail. I believe it to be an example of the ancient adage, “The Large Print Giveth And The Small Print Taketh Away.”

Even so, I have usually thought it better to owe smaller amounts to several people rather than a large amount to any one person. That way, if I should fall upon hard times I may be able to fudge one better than the others. This is especially useful if one of them happens to be a large swarthy fellow in a wide-brimmed fedora who goes by the name of Boom Boom. I still hold to this principal even though those days are far far back in my youth.

At first, I thought that perhaps these banks were just trying to be nice, that maybe they were worried about my financial well being. I thought about it again, though, and concluded that they probably reserve that kind of worry for the financial well being of those to whom they have already given a lot of their money and whose present prospects may be poor. Tobacco, soft drink and coal mining companies come to mind.

Besides, even if banks are incorporated, therefore have personhood and therefore can act in the political process as though they were merely stupendously well-heeled individuals, does that mean that they have minds? Benevolent caring minds? I think it’s a long shot at best and I don’t want to think about it anyway.

As for the insurance companies, there’s another “puzzlement” as the King said to Anna. Their enticements feature lush photos of vibrantly healthy people enjoying the security and safety of new cars, well-trimmed lawns and swimming pools. Do they expect me to believe that all this happiness is their doing? As though the smiling man with the briefcase comes back every now and then to skim the pool? How could they possible think such a dumb pitch will get me to sign up? I’ve thought of writing to recommend a more realistic approach, perhaps showing a policy holder gratefully clutching wads of greenbacks while being hoisted into a waiting ambulance. I’ve got to admit it, though, that much reality could be a hard sell on today’s market.

Anyway, there was the day’s mail and what a sweet and sour, yin/yang proposition it was. A simple love note from a grown child and two ham-handed come-ons that deny me even basic recognition for having a brain. Pound for pound the junk mail far out-weighs the love mail but, in the end, the junk will have failed to change much of anything. It will merely annoy. It will litter the table until one of us puts it in the big bag by the back door. When there’s enough of it, I’ll lug it down to the beach where it will continue to annoy while I stir and prod smoking wads of barely-organic crud until the last pieces grudgingly submit to the quart of diesel I’ve poured over it.

Give that love note its due, though. Even as I squint into the noxious smoke it’s a deal that I’ll take.

• Brooke Elgie writes from Tenakee Springs. He may be reached at brookeelgie@gmail.com.