Unsubscribing

I have a new hobby. At least I think it’s a hobby. Something you spend a lot of time on and don’t get paid for is a hobby. Then this is a hobby. I’m talking about the art of unsubscribing. Every day I come home from work and unsubscribe to all the great deals in my e-mails.

If I skip dinner, I can usually get through them by the time I go to bed. I unsubscribed to Bestop Inc. for the Trek-top for the Jeep Wrangler that I don’t have. I opted out of RFID Wallet Productions who offered me Wallet Shield Protection against electromagnetic fields. I figured I might even need the magnetic pull to keep me from floating off into space. Front Point Security had a $200-off Holiday Special on smarter home security. I unsubscribed after I did the math. Even with their generous offer, by the time I paid for their security system, I’d have nothing left to steal. 35-Below Socks invaded my cyberspace with ultra- technologically advanced socks that keep your feet warm to, guess what, thirty-five below. Don’t they know that at 35 below, nobody goes outside.

Easy Home Insurance was a pleasure to reject. They didn’t even have an ad. Went right to unsubscribe. On the other hand, I get an offer from At-A-Glance publications for their appointment books and calendars every single day. Sometimes twice a day. It’s not entirely their fault. I made the mistake of ordering a daily planner from them. That must have set off bells in their marketing department that said: “This guy needs more stuff. Lots more stuff. And he needs it every day.” Here I thought I was buying only a notebook, not a lifetime pen pal. I did unsubscribe to them. Well, I tried to. When I click on the “unsubscribe” button, it takes me to a page that has a “how to unsubscribe” box which then links me back up to their home page with the same unsubscribe button. And so it goes, round and round, constantly unsubscribing but never actually getting there. I do this every evening which means I fit the definition of insanity. I should be able to sue.

Once I did get sucked in and bought a product instead of just unsubscribing. A miracle-proven anti-aging cream from a combined fifty nutrients that could moisturize me back to the ninth grade. How could I pass this up? I saw a picture of me the other day and wondered who the old guy was. I decided to go Benjamin Button. I know this is not a very manly thing to do but, hey, in an age of confused sexuality, I might very well be a man trapped inside a woman trapped inside another man. I just wish one of us looked a little younger.

One container of Essential Power Rich Anti-Aging Cream will set you back two hundred sixty bucks. I’d have to be nuts to throw my hard-earned dough into this unlikely promise of rejuvenation. But… I could get a free sample for just the cost of shipping and handling. I need the shipping, not the handling; but there was no option. I bought in. When my “good-bye to wrinkles” jar came, I religiously applied it every night and after three weeks, it looked like I had aged three weeks. After four weeks, my credit card statement looked like it had aged $39.95. Clearly every free sample of every product on earth costs $39.95 a month for eternity. This is written in teeny, tiny faded letters at the bottom of the free offer. Even teeny-tinier than the message that says “unsubscribe”.

I learned my lesson. Now I intend to unsubscribe relentlessly. I take great satisfaction in seeing “Your unsubscription was successful”. Everyone loves success. I don’t care if they’re “Sorry to see me go”. I will never again order anything advertised on line. Unless it can grow hair.

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