In
the supermarket, Shopper had just finished with the checkout line and is on
his way to the exit with his one bag when his eye naturally is caught by a huge
sign above a table. The sign reads “GUESS
THE NUMBER OF PIECES OF CANDY TO WIN!!!”; on the table itself is a tall jar
filled with the candy, a box marked “GUESSES,” and a tear-off pad for customers
to enter their guess and contact information.
Shopper
stares at all these for a few moments.
Shopper: (Shrugs)
Hm. Couldn’t hurt.
He leans down to
write in everything the form asks. He
views the jar at different angles with twitchy looks on his face as he tries to
calculate the number, at one point picking up the jar to count pieces
with his pen before shaking his head and setting it back down. He then writes “365” on a whim, tears off the
page, and places it into the box.
Guess
Box: (Demonically) HA. HA. HA.
Shopper
freezes with his eyes widening as he stares at the box. He looks around to see if he is being
pranked, then stares at the box some more.
He then thinks maybe he is losing track of the seasons, as his
30+-year-old brain has been doing so more and more lately.
Shopper:
Is it Halloween? (Looks out through the
store exit and sees the snow falling on the parking lot, then turns back to the
box) Guess not.
He
leaves the store and goes home. In his
living room, he takes out his laptop and signs onto his e-mail: his Inbox displays
“1,750” as the number of new messages, all received within the past hour.
Shopper:
(As he scrolls through the neverending list) Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-how did this
happen?! Did I get hacked?! (He thinks back to the supermarket incident)
Oh no, I gave them my e-mail address.
And now they have me.
TWO HOURS LATER
He
got into a rhythm of selecting “Unsubscribe,” hitting Ctrl+V to paste his
e-mail address, selecting “Submit,” and then “Delete” on the original e-mail
for each and every one received and kept receiving, until he finally
caught up.
Shopper:
There, they can’t e-mail me ever again, according to their code of honor.
He
watches in horror as e-mails from brand-new addresses begin appearing in his
Inbox, increasing the count to 20, 75, 280, 900 –
Shopper:
(Slamming his laptop cover down, as if that would do anything. Whispers) They’ve adapted.
His
phone vibrates, signaling it has finished charging as it had sat on the lamp
table ever since he had gotten home. He
jumps slightly, then unplugs it, starts it up, and unlocks it. He sees that he has 225 missed calls.
Shopper:
(Slowly shaking his head in denial as he scrolls through the random area codes,
then selects “Delete All” for them and for the 225 voicemails) Ha! In your face!
Oh, wait, that last one was Mom.
(The phone then rings; he sees that it is a local number and answers it)
Hello?
Voice:
Hello, you’re hard to get in touch with – we’ve called you 17 times. You’ve stayed at one of our resorts in the
past and –
Shopper:
That’s a filthy lie and I hate you!
He
disconnects and triumphantly blocks the number.
The phone immediately rings again.
Shopper:
(As if nothing has happened) Hello?
Voice:
Hello, you’re hard to get in touch with –
Shopper:
You think that was hard?! (Blocks the
new number)
There
is a knocking on the front door: he stares at it in fear as his phone rings again. He chucks the phone onto the couch and opens
the door to see a courier holding an electronic clipboard and a leash
attached to a large animal.
Courier:
Hello – did you order an alpaca and a deed to the farm where he lives?
Shopper:
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! (Slams the door
and triple-locks it)
Courier:
(Looks at the clipboard) Oh I see, this is for next door.
Back
at the supermarket, Shopper returns to the scene and stares at the empty place
where the table had stood. An Employee then
approaches him from his blind side.
Employee:
Hi! Can I help you?
Shopper:
Yes, actually: I was just wondering if there is any way out of the
telemarketing prison to which you people have consigned me?!
Employee:
Oh, were you the one who filled out the “Guess the Candy” card? Be right back.
Shopper
stands there in impotent rage-filled confusion until Employee returns with the
candy jar.
Employee:
Congratulations, you won! (Hands him the
unwieldy jar)
Shopper:
I… won? This is the prize?
Employee:
It sure is! Enjoy!
Shopper:
But I thought it was going to be, I dunno, like a gift card or something?
Employee:
…Why?
Shopper:
You’re right, never mind; my real point is, how could you people completely sell all my information
to those scum-sucking, low-living, dedicated-dialing –
Employee:
You mean from the card you filled out?
It said on the sign what was going to happen.
Employee whips out
the sign where, in small print at the bottom, it reads: “By entering this
contest you agree that your contact information will be sold by this store to
everyone.”
Shopper: Again I
ask, how could you?!
Employee: What,
you think we’d just give something away?
What business on Earth does that?
I must say, though, everyone else had the same opinion you do, but you
were the only one who actually filled out a card – we were five minutes away
from scrapping the whole display when you showed up.
Shopper: And now
I’m trapped forever.
Employee:
As a consolation for your negative experience, I can offer to sign you
up to receive store coupons, if you like.
Shopper:
How often would I be receiving them?
Employee:
Every week, until you die. (Smiling
wildly as he looks at her in terror) Or until our company goes out of business,
which nowadays, probably will happen first.
Back
at his house, Shopper slumps onto an armchair and begins slowly eating the
candy from the unwieldy jar. His phone
rings; he cringes as he picks it up to check the screen, then relaxes.
Shopper:
Hi, Mom.
Mom’s
Voice: Are you all right? You haven’t
been answering and your voicemail’s full.
Shopper: Yes it is, and on a related note right now I’m trying to give myself diabetes
to speed things along.
Mom’s
Voice: Don’t do that, hon – they’ll take your foot, just like Uncle Morty.
Shopper:
(Looks at his foot, then tosses the candy jar away) Do you know how to deal
with a telemarketer problem? As in a
really bad, extreme telemarketer problem?
Mom’s
Voice: I just don’t answer them, thanks to Caller ID and spam filters; they usually give up and
move on to new prey, those poor saps.
Shopper
hears noises outside his front door.
Shopper: Thanks, Mom – I’ll call you
later.
Mom’s Voice: Good luck,
sweetie! When in doubt, just say “Not today,
evildoers!”
They say good-bye and he disconnects
the call; when he goes outside, he sees the mail carrier struggling with piles
of envelopes.
Shopper: Hello.
Mail Carrier: (Relieved) Oh, hi,
here you go, thanks! (Dumps the
envelopes into a jumbo garbage bag and hands that over to Shopper) Man, who did
you tick off? (Does not wait for an
answer and skips away, chuckling)
Shopper: (Peers into the 40-gallon
bag) I wonder if anyone would believe me if I told them this is why I threw out
my bills.
