When you work from home exclusively, you tend to talk to furniture. No, no.

What I meant to say was that you tend to get obsessed with things that you wouldn't have time to worry about at the office.

Like how my Internet service provider has started sticking stupid little advertisements on the bottom of every e-mail I send. It's jarring to write a heartfelt e-mail to a friend in a crisis and realize that, at the bottom, Big Brother has added "Want to learn how to send mail for free AND get videos from across the Web?"

Pretty soon, they'll be selling the space to that creepy widow in the unpronounceable country who wants to split her dead husband's vast oil well fortune with me.

Just yesterday, I was telling filing cabinet that I'm going to fight back. After all, they could put ANYTHING at the end of my e-mail ("Republicans Rock!") and I have no control.

Lamp warned me it wouldn't be easy. Kidding! Only people speeding in the fast lane to Crazy Town talk to AND listen to their furnishings. Right, clock?

I wrote my Internet service provider and politely told them this was intrusive and I asked them to stop adding their promotional ads to the bottom of my personal mail. Now, of course, I realize how truly crazy that was because, four replies later, we're still nowhere and lamp is laughing hysterically.

The company's response was obviously computerized: "There is no problem with your computer or account! This is our way of sharing with our customers exciting new offers and services!"

Oh! Well then! Bite me!

Fortunately, they added, my input was valued and "very beneficial." In fact, customer input is the best way they know how to provide such great service.

In conclusion, there was no way to delete the advertising from the e-mail I send. That was, essentially, tough toenails.

My second, third and fourth e-mails ranged from shrill to potentially libelous. I figured that tougher language would ensure that I'd get a human to respond instead of ever more annoying computer-generated mail. I warned them that, as a nationally syndicated columnist (well, if you count that one time that paper in Oregon ran my rant about back fat), I shouldn't be messed with because I would write about their abysmal customer service in my column.

The next day I got a generic e-mail from a cyber employee named "Dallas" that said "Thanks for voicing your concerns."

That was it.

I hate "Dallas" and the rest of the computerized response team. And while it's true that I'm pretty mad, they just better hope that desk calendar never gets wind of this. I'm just saying.

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Rivenbark is a freelance columnist in Wilmington, N.C. and may be contacted at celiariven@aol.com.