The Vanishing Mail

Am I Just Being Paranoid Or Are The Robots Out To Get Me?

It all started in the early part of the twenty-first century.

In the early days of email we were thrilled with its speed and reliability, far superior to "snail mail" but there's always somebody who has to go and spoil things for everyone else. In the case of email it was the purveyors of the namesake of a certain pork-based substance. They became such a nuisance that large teams of robots had to be employed to keep them under control.

As the porkers got smarter, the robots had to become smarter still. At first, everybody agreed that stringent measures must be taken to defeat the porkers. Ever hear the phrase "throwing the baby out with the bath water" or "the cure is worse than the disease"?

The number of spam merchants multiplied over and over. Eventually, the only way of controlling them was for every email user to have his or her own robot to filter their mail. I did not want a robot filtering my mail but I didn't have much choice: nobody was allowed an email account without a robot to monitor its use.

Every time I log into my email, I pause and listen for the faint metallic scraping and a slight pneumatic wheeze as the robot wakes and prepares to filter my mail. No matter how quiet I am, he always knows and is instantly awake and alert, ready to do his job. I did not request robotic help, don't want it, don't need it but the robot is here to stay.

I think my robot is like the paranoid android in The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy: slow moving and depressive, so I call him Marvin (not to his face, of course). I don't suppose my Marvin feels that censoring my mail is a suitable