It’s Friday afternoon. Nice weather. It may be the first day of the layered bicycling season. No more short-sleeved shirt and fingerless gloves. It is time for long-sleeved polypro and full-length gloves. – But – I want to write, first. But what to write about? A glance at my Facebook Notifications later and something I posted earlier pulled in a lot of traffic. What and why? Oh. I guess I’ll write about that. Maybe there’ll be time for a ride after that.

My post:

Customer Experience:

(Rant deleted. Lesson learned. 

But – treat me poorly and lose me as a customer. Yet, somehow, that doesn’t affect their business. Manners and values are not in style.)

A friend has moments that he calls; “Ride of the Valkyrie” moments. As his feelings build he imagines the Viking Valkyries riding down from the clouds to witness an epic battle. His keyboard cringes from the strength he throws into his thoughts that he throws at the offending party. “Let me tell you…!” (Paraphrased, of course.)

I had such a moment. 

It has been years since I canceled all of my magazine subscriptions out of financial necessity. Back then, I read at lunch. Out of minimalism I only had three: Scientific American, Wired, The Week. Scientific American was an indulgence after I retired because I finally had enough time to read it. Science fascinates me, and it was a good way to see science before it became a product. Handy for an investor. Wired was also watching the early trends and catching the ideas that purposely avoided the pace of academia. It was a good place to watch startups. The Week is, naturally, weekly. It excelled at being broader in focus, more topical, and more likely to mention multiple points of view.

Here comes the rave turned to rant. – The Abridged Edition for those who’d like to skip ahead

Finally, a year ago, I saw a deal that was too good to believe. A subscription to Wired was down to a few dollars a year. Great!
…
Also besides, or maybe not besides at all, with subscription processes like these, I am even less likely to sign up for any subscription associated with the company.

Here comes the rave turned to rant. – The Unabridged Edition for those who want the full story

Finally, a year ago, I saw a deal that was too good to believe. A subscription to Wired was down to a few dollars a year. Great! Sure, they’d ramp it up eventually, but maybe my finances could absorb that after a year of me absorbing their content. Nope. Time to cancel. Supposedly, no problem. Go to their website, log in, cancel. Did that. Or not? OK. Got an email informing me that the full rate was about to begin. Time to cancel. Click on this link – and get a page that has text about cancelling but no instructions or links or buttons; but it does have text and instructions and a button to confirm that I will upgrade my subscription. I didn’t click on that. Get another email encouraging me to complete my transaction, which led back to what was a circular process. Oh well, maybe their email glitched. They did give a phone number. Call. Listen to the voicemail options, which do not include unsubscribing. Click the equivalent of Other. Another menu and still no appropriate option. Somehow get put on Hold. Wait. Get bored. While on Hold, uncover an email address. Type that up and as I am about to hit Send it clicks through to a human. Yay! Yes, sir. We’ll make sure who you are, sir. Thank you sir. Yada, yada, sir. I make a point that I do not hold the person I am talking to responsible. They’re just doing their job. No reason to make their day worse. Eventually, get unsubscribed. Whew. But before I hang up, he asks me if I’d like a credit against the New Yorker, or something that doesn’t sound like anything I’d like. Besides, I live on a West Coast island, not an East Coast one. Also besides, or maybe not besides at all, with subscription processes like these, I am even less likely to sign up for any subscription associated with the company. Hmm. Send that email, just in case.

Ironically, the newest edition was delivered to my mailbox after lunch.

I had my Ride of the Valkyrie moment. Cue the music! Apologize to the keyboard. Open Facebook. Type. Type. Type.

Pause. Remember a piece of advice from years ago; “Praise in public. Criticize in private.”

Delete. Delete. Delete. Rant deleted.

There is enough drama in the world. Saying I was ranting was rant enough. Close the computer. Run some errands. And come home to more comments than I’ve seen in a while.

I hit a thread, and writers shouldn’t ignore such hints. Many someones wanted someone to vent their rant, possibly vicariously.

A single magazine subscription is low on the list of injustices in the world. Hmm. I just realized that the time it took me to rectify this situation cost more in lost hours than the price of the subscription. That deal that was so cheap that it was too good to be true cost more than the supposed savings. I’m now doubly sure to not sign up for more.

I remember a story from the early days of Apple. Steve Jobs was criticizing their own product because it took too long to start. Evidently, the employee said something like ‘What’s the difference of a few seconds?’ (massively paraphrased) Steve pointed out that a few seconds multiplied by millions of users equals (insert irony because my computer is taking minutes to open a calculator) easily equates to an entire work year saved. That’s per day and per million users. There have been many more days, and millions of more users. Don’t ignore the small stuff.

I wonder if the cumulative effect on millions of customers is a criteria, anymore.

How many mini-injustices do you experience? How massive are the truly massive ones? Someone at the publishing house could be thinking that they’re discouraging cancellations, but they’re really discouraging a multiple of new subscriptions because my experience with one cancellation affects my perception of all of their products, probably for years, possibly for the rest of my life. Whoever made that decision about a mild inconvenience has a larger multiplier effect than they realize. They may feel unable to affect a major injustice like war or disease, but they’re missing an opportunity to improve the immediate situation for their company’s customers, their company, and ultimately their job.

A lot has changed since I last regularly had magazine subscriptions. Wired was a way to be aware of a rapidly changing industry. They had ads, but whether they were intrusive or not wasn’t memorable. The content remains geeky, but a few extra pieces and many of the ads present an atmosphere of rich-and-geeky rather than poor-ingenious-and-geeky. Privilege overshadows pragmatism. (BTW Someone complimented me the other day by saying I write well enough that I should be writing for Wired. Aw, shucks, and probably no way after this posts.) It is a world of fancy cars (for sluggish traffic and work from home?), fancy watches (have you looked at your phone or any screen in your vicinity?), and hints of fear or fear-of-missing-out (fear sells), and hints of sex (sex sells.) There’s an irony worthy of a Wired article. Geeks were stereotypically unattractive. As a friend said, “Money is the ultimate aphrodisiac.” (Not paraphrased because a woman I was attracted to told me that as I was losing most of my net worth. I Remember that one.) I’m not in Wired’s world anymore.

Aerospace engineer, inventor, investor, but too poor to see myself there. It was nice to visit that old hometown, but it has gentrified.

It doesn’t have to be that way. While I’ve been typing this, I remembered a call or two that I got from someone who worked at The Week. They wanted me back, of course, but they actually listened and sympathized with why I couldn’t yet. That was years ago. I restarted that subscription a month or two ago, full-price, and eagerly welcomed. They are especially good at showing more than one side of an issue. That is vital in the age of misinformation.

Type this much, and the Valkyries have enough time to get bored and ride away.

This blog is about my personal finances based on my book, Dream. Invest. Live. Put the philosophizing aside. I bought into an idea that was too good to be true. I saved myself some money by not throwing more money after a failed idea. The savings should be dozens of dollars, about what some folks will spend on dinner. And multiply those savings by the years that follow. And multiply those savings by how many magazines I won’t subscribe to. That may sound too good to be true, but it has much better odds of working in my favor. 

Pardon me as I look up from the keyboard and screen. Still a nice day. A bit breezy. Bike. Walk. Live. Enough for now.