Door Spam

The other morning I heard a loud series of thuds which were similar to—but much more assertive than—the sound the nice FedEx man makes on the wooden front steps when he turns up with a package. My office window overlooks the steps, so I peer outside.

One of my "tricks" for seeing the porch and the front of the house normally invisible from my window is to look into the reflections on the windows of cars parked along the street. Depending on their make, model, and number—and, of course, the time of day—I can usually get a pretty good view of the front steps and porch.

In a car window, I see a reflection of what looks to be a teenager or young adult in a hoodie and carrying a loaded messenger bag standing at the far end of the porch, He's well away from the front door and making rapid gesturing motions with his one of his arms. He then turns quickly back to the front stairs—thump thump thump—down he goes, then he's out to the sidewalk and trotting down the street.

Puzzled, I go downstairs. Maybe someone sent me a package via a messenger service? That's rare but not impossible…although I'm not expecting anything, and the kid didn't take off on a bike or have a car. And messengers usually want a signature.

I look outside, then open the front door to take a look at the porch. And I'm greeted by a doorhanger advertisement jammed through the 1920's vintage door handle. It proclaims that if I don't have a shirt, shoes, or pants, it's not a problem: Quiznos delivers!

Despite the name, Quiznos isn't offering to bring games, puzzles, and quizzes to my doorstep. They're apparently a sandwich shop of some sort.

Great. I involuntarily take a step back as the acrid "freshly-printed four-color glossy" slams my sinuses, then go over to the far end of the porch. What could the kid have been doing over here?

Looking over the porch, I find the answer: on the lawn and ground below the porch: two more Quiznos doorhanger ads. A third has drifted down over a retaining wall and into the neighbors' driveway. I guess that's what passes for "neighborhood distribution" these days: toss a few ads around and let the wind do the rest. Peering at the ads, I learn they were produced and distributed by Power Direct, which claims to be "reinventing doorhanger advertising." (Visit the site at your own risk, because the Flash intro to the site could induce seizures.)

As I pick up the ads and take them around back to the recycling, I realize I've kinda had it with on-door ads. See, since 1998, I've had a sign on my door which reads "Please: No Advertisements, No Solicitors. Thank you!" And sometimes it works: a canvaser or someone carrying flyers will get near the door, see the sign, and leave. I truly appreciate it: these folks obviously understand that they aren't going to gain a customer by leaving their material on that door…and might actually generate ill-will.

No Ads, No Solicitors, Thanks

But some advertisers ignore the sign and leave their crap anyway. Since January, I've been randomly keeping some of the material which turns up on the front door, with an eye to maybe placing a phone call to repeat offenders or at least telling people I know "Yeah, those Quiznos people? They threw a bunch of their door ads all over my yard. Wonderful folks." Not that I had much hope of changing the advertising campaigns of a national chain like Quiznos, but a lot of the outfits peppering my door with unwanted (er, free!) recycling fodder are local businesses. I might be able to influence them.

So, businesses of Seattle and the wider region, here's the plan. From this point forward, if you post unwanted material on my door or ring the doorbell to try to sell me something, I'm publishing it on the Internet. I will include your name, the date, what you did, and relevant contact information (like your name, address, phone number, amd email address). I'll keyword the page with proper names, and I hope Google and other search engines bring your business practices home to roost. Because I have definitely had enough of cleaning up after you.

Feh.

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