Thursday, December 17, 2009
Back in February, Caroline and I moved into our first house. It's a rented house, but we are living in it, so technically, it's our first house. Anyway, I really warmed to the whole idea of living in a neighborhood in the suburbs. In fact, as we were still unpacking our boxes, we heard a recorded jingly noise coming from outside. I looked out the window to see an ice cream truck driving down the street! In February!
I looked at Caroline and yelled, "ICE CREAM MAN!" I dropped the box I had been carrying, and we both sprinted out into the street to meet the truck and purchase an ice cream sandwich. It was euphoric.
A few weeks later, as I was getting used to living in the 'burbs, a high school girl knocked on our door. She was selling magazine subscriptions for her school's student council program, and everyone who raised a specific amount of money would be allowed to go on the end-of-the-year trip to Washington, D.C. I wanted to be a good neighbor (even though I don't think she technically lived in my neighborhood), so I agreed to buy a subscription to Rolling Stone Magazine. I read Rolling Stone anyway, and a subscription would save me from having to buy my magazines on the newsstand. I wrote her a check. That was back in February, and I have yet to find one issue of Rolling Stone in my mailbox.
Okay, so I was a sucker one time. That couldn't happen again, right?
So, a few months ago, some high school-aged soccer players cornered Caroline and me in our driveway as we were leaving. They seemed like really nice guys, and they were selling magazine subscriptions. They said that if they sold enough subscriptions, their team would be given the opportunity to go to Spain and play teams internationally. I'm all about helping youth sports programs (or at least I felt that way at the moment), so Caroline and I both ordered magazine subscriptions from them. Caroline ordered a Rachel Ray magazine (which she has subsequently begun to receive), and I ordered Paste Magazine. Not only have I not received any issues of Paste, but I have begun receiving copies of Elle Magazine instead.
So, ladies and gentlemen, here is my conclusion. I am never again helping another high school aged con artist claiming to sell magazines. If they've got cookies that I can see and touch, I'll buy a box. I may even purchase the occasional coupon book if I feel so inclined. But if you or anyone you know is knocking on my door with a piece of paper boasting a list of magazines, move on. I'm not interested. I've been burned too many times, and I cannot bear the thought of what I may or may not find in my mailbox the next time I try to be nice to some kid who wants to go on a field trip. Modern Bride? O? Southern Living? No thanks, neighbor kids. Take your snake oil elsewhere. I'm wise to your schemes.
Now excuse me. I have to go see if the newest issue of Elle has arrived...
Posted by Rob at 10:01 AM