New York Times No More
So I figured I'd share an amusing story from the life of Megin. What follows is the tale New York Times Home Delivery Service Cancellation: If you don't want the back story, skip down to where you see the words "This Is The Good Part" in bold and underlined.
I suppose I shall begin at the very beginning. In 2001, I enrolled in Freshmen English with a man whose name I can no longer remember, but he was an instructor who was notorious for being the hardest English professor at Mercer University. Professor Blackstone mabye? I can't recall. One of his requirements was that his students subscribe to the New York Times and daily read and summarize five articles. The summaries were due weekly and were graded for grammar and content as well as variety and whether or not the student was expressing his or her opinion about the topic of the article. I loathed this assignment; yet, being the perfectionist that I am (or was...), I did it, and I did it well, and I received an A. After that semester, I transferred to a much easier English class and no longer read the New York Times.
Fast Forward to 2007. I accepted a job at the prestigious Grace Faith Church in Chinatown, New York with my nice 'corner' office in Manhattan. It was, I must say, pretty cool to tell my friends in Georgia that I was moving to New York. It sounded like I had hit the big time even though the reality was I was going to do ministry work at a church, not star in a Broadway play or direct an orchestra or design my own line of clothing. Nonetheless, there were a few 'novelty' things that we (my family and I) did thinking that all New Yorkers did them. One of them was subscribe to the New York Times. Didn't everyone in NY do that?
At the time, it was obvious I wouldn't be able to support myself without my dad helping me here there, from time to time, because rent was astronomical compared to the peanut mortgages of the Southland, and everyone knew ministry work was not a field where anyone went to make six figures. So one of the 'things' Dad thought would be cool would be if he offered to pay for me a subscription to the New York Times. I hadn't thought about subscribing to a paper before, but I did like to read the news online, and I suspected that since I was now going to be wearing big-girl-pants and working a big-girl-job, it made sense that I would read a REAL big-girl-paper while I drank my coffee in the morning at my big-girl-kitchen table. (ironic aside: I didn't realize at the time that my first apartment in NY would be too small to allow space for a kitchen table).
So Dad subscribed to the NYTimes for me, and I got a paper delivered every day, even weekends; what's more, I was allowed unlimited access to the New York Times online. I.was.an.adult.
Now at first, the papers were gold. I loved them. I went downstairs each morning and collected them (when my neighbors in the apartment complex didn't steal them), and I'd read my paper and cut out things I found interesting and taped the articles to the kitchen cabinets. Then I'd use the left over paper for 'puppy pads' for Jirem to do his business on when I wasn't home. It worked out GREAT because BUYING REAL puppy pads was a lot of money, like $15 dollars for a pack of 10. RIDICULOUS.I.TELL.YOU!
But then, as the years passed, I started getting busier, and the papers would pile up, and I wouldn't get to read them all, and some I'd put away before even reading them, especially since I was spending more and more time on my computer. Eventually I started taking the papers to church and we also used them with the kids at church for tutoring, but I wondered if I even wanted the paper myself anymore or if I JUST wanted it for tutoring the kids? And if that was the case, Dad didn't need to buy them. I could purchase papers for the kids from the CC budget.
So I decided to cancel cut back my NYTimes subscription. At first, I just cancelled the weekday delivery and kept only the Sunday delivery so that I could receive the weekend special ads. I made the switch via my account online. It was simple and convenient. There was no problem, but then I realized, that I wasn't even taking the time to read the weekend ads or use them. I told Dad that I was just going to cancel the paper all together, and he said 'Aww, that's nice. It will save me a lot of money each month.' Then I felt REALLY guilty and KNEW there was NO NEED for me to be getting that dumb paper, especially not at HIS dime. So I went online to cancel it all together. THIS is where the story gets fun.
Apparently, if you want to CANCEL your subscription, you can't do it online. You actually HAVE to call the New York Times and cancel by speaking to a person (of all things). So I said, "Alright. You won't get me just because I'm lazy. I'll go the extra mile! I'll call." So I called, and then I was met with the task of going through no less than 15 different automated prompts while they 'directed' my call to the proper place. Now the number I called was the number that the website said to call ONLY if I wanted to CANCEL my account, so I do not know why when I called it they had so many different options for me to choose from like ADDING ADDITIONAL things to my account or getting the paper delivered MORE?!? Sheesh. Whatever. Finally I got to the prompt where it said I could cancel my account. I pressed the button. Then it said, in it's nice computerized voice, "Please wait for someone to come on the line to speak with you and confirm you cancellation." "Great," I thought. "They're gonna try to make me stay!" So I waited and listened to about 5 minutes of elevator music. Finally a girl came on and this conversation ensued:
Girl: Hello. This is Whitley. How may I help you today?
Me: Hi, I'd like to cancel my subscription.
Girl: This is Whitley; how may I assist you?
Me: Hello? I'd like to cancel my newspaper.
Girl: If you are there you are going to have to speak up.
Me: Hello? Can you hear me? I'm trying to close my account! HELLO?!?!?!
Girl: I'm sorry I cannot hear you. You are going to have to call again. Goodbye.
I was so mad. Ugh. So I sat there stunned thinking NO WAY. NO SHE DID NOT. THIS HAS GOT TO BE ALL A BIG PLOY TO KEEP ME STUCK BUYING THIS DANG PAPER! So I decided I wasn't giving in. I'd call again, no matter how long it too, and I did, and I went through the 15 prompts again, and the 5 minutes of elevator music, and finally another girl picked up who sounded JUST LIKE Whitley, and so it scared me, but then this conversation ensued:
Girl: Hello, This is Lindsey, how may I help you?
Me: Can you hear me?
Girl: (confused) Yeeeeeesss.
Me: Ok good. I'd like to cancel my account.
Girl: May I ask why?
Me: I don't read the papers.
Girl: Well since you've been with us so long, I'd like to over you 50% of your subscription from now on if you'd like to stay or add anything to your account.
Me: (in my head: YOU MEAN YOU COULD SELL ME THE SAME PAPER FOR 50% OFF...??!?!?! THAT IS SUCH CRAP! YOU'VE BEEN RIPPING ME OFF! I SHOULD HAVE TRIED TO CANCEL THREE YEARS AGO AND GOT IT FOR CHEAPER THESE LAST THREE YEARS. THIS IS SUCH BULL. OMGOODNES. GRRRRRRRRRRRRR)
Me: (in reality): No that's ok. I just want to cancel.
Girl: Alright. Are you sure?
Me: Yes!!
Girl: Ok, well I'd like to remind you that you will lose your unlimited privileges online. Are you sure you want to cancel?
Me:Yes!!
Girl: Ok, well I'd also like to know if you'd be willing to take our survey for-
Me: (cutting her off): Sorry I can't. Thank you. goodbye.
Girl: Ok goodbye and thank you for calling the New York Times
Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesh.
So at this point, I decide that I must get up and go tell Jesse this story. And this is where the AMUSING story turns somewhat DISTURBING- (Dad, if you're reading this, stop reading now- in fact, anyone who doesn't want to be disturbed, just stop reading).
So, I get up really quick and dash to our bedroom where Jesse is spending time with God. What I should let you know is that the morning that all of this took place, I was experiencing a very bad migraine with intense dizziness. It was hard to dial the right numbers on the phone to talk to the New York Times lady, and listening to the elevator music and automated voice was torture. So yeah, I was really dizzy and not feeling well at all, and I'd been squatting in my computer desk chair during the entire phone conversation, and when it was over I went straight from that position to standing up and walking to the bedroom quickly to tell Jesse the story.
At the point where I opened the door and began the story by saying "You would not believe what the lady at the New York Times did..." I could feel that hands, feet, legs, and basically whole body were feeling numb and tingly and I was starting to feel fuzzy in my head. It was that feeling of standing up too fast, so I grasped the wall and door knob tightly thinking it would pass b/c I get the 'stand up too fast feeling a lot' due to my very poor circulation that runs in my family, and I'd just stood up really fast, so that was all, right? RIGHT?
....
WRONG
The next thing I remember, I was laying flat on the floor and Jesse and holding my head in his arms.
I'D FAINTED. I freaking passed out. I fell into the door, and the door knocked me sideways, so I fell over backwards and hit the back of my head hard on the ground. Jesse couldn't get to me in time to catch me b/c he was sitting on the bed. He said my whole body started shaking and then I just collapsed. I don't recall any of it. He said the whole thing lasted about 10 seconds. I don't remember falling at all, not one bit. What I DO recall is hearing in my head the stinking New York Times lady saying "I'm sorry, I can't hear you. You're going to have to speak up!" I heard her saying that over and over again. It was like I was asleep and dreaming that, and then I CAN remember hearing Jesse's voice in the middle of that dream saying "you're ok. It's ok," and I remember thinking "how did Jesse get here because I'm in Georgia." And as I was coming to (waking up) I was so confused. I didn't understand that I was in NYC and in my own apartment and married to Jesse. I knew who Jesse was but I was expecting to wake up from my dream in my house in Gerogia. It's weird to explain. I know; it was really strange. I kinda like lost consciousness for a bit I guess, and sections of my memory connected but others didn't??! I donno-
Jesse had me lay there for a bit, and he made me drink some Gatorade. Then he helped me up. I didn't go to work that day, and I my migraine and dizziness passed by the next evening. And after I drank the gatorade I could remember the whole story about the New York Times lady and told him so that we could laugh about it, and he agreed, that's how they get you. Later I told Kim the story, and she said that they do that at People too. They say they'll give you 50% off if you'll stay. So this week I'm going to call and tell my cable company I'm cancelling just so they'll give me 50% off. I'll let you know how it goes. Sheesh.
Ok that's all- Peace Out and Happy President's Day!
Fast Forward to 2007. I accepted a job at the prestigious Grace Faith Church in Chinatown, New York with my nice 'corner' office in Manhattan. It was, I must say, pretty cool to tell my friends in Georgia that I was moving to New York. It sounded like I had hit the big time even though the reality was I was going to do ministry work at a church, not star in a Broadway play or direct an orchestra or design my own line of clothing. Nonetheless, there were a few 'novelty' things that we (my family and I) did thinking that all New Yorkers did them. One of them was subscribe to the New York Times. Didn't everyone in NY do that?
At the time, it was obvious I wouldn't be able to support myself without my dad helping me here there, from time to time, because rent was astronomical compared to the peanut mortgages of the Southland, and everyone knew ministry work was not a field where anyone went to make six figures. So one of the 'things' Dad thought would be cool would be if he offered to pay for me a subscription to the New York Times. I hadn't thought about subscribing to a paper before, but I did like to read the news online, and I suspected that since I was now going to be wearing big-girl-pants and working a big-girl-job, it made sense that I would read a REAL big-girl-paper while I drank my coffee in the morning at my big-girl-kitchen table. (ironic aside: I didn't realize at the time that my first apartment in NY would be too small to allow space for a kitchen table).
So Dad subscribed to the NYTimes for me, and I got a paper delivered every day, even weekends; what's more, I was allowed unlimited access to the New York Times online. I.was.an.adult.
Now at first, the papers were gold. I loved them. I went downstairs each morning and collected them (when my neighbors in the apartment complex didn't steal them), and I'd read my paper and cut out things I found interesting and taped the articles to the kitchen cabinets. Then I'd use the left over paper for 'puppy pads' for Jirem to do his business on when I wasn't home. It worked out GREAT because BUYING REAL puppy pads was a lot of money, like $15 dollars for a pack of 10. RIDICULOUS.I.TELL.YOU!
But then, as the years passed, I started getting busier, and the papers would pile up, and I wouldn't get to read them all, and some I'd put away before even reading them, especially since I was spending more and more time on my computer. Eventually I started taking the papers to church and we also used them with the kids at church for tutoring, but I wondered if I even wanted the paper myself anymore or if I JUST wanted it for tutoring the kids? And if that was the case, Dad didn't need to buy them. I could purchase papers for the kids from the CC budget.
So I decided to cancel cut back my NYTimes subscription. At first, I just cancelled the weekday delivery and kept only the Sunday delivery so that I could receive the weekend special ads. I made the switch via my account online. It was simple and convenient. There was no problem, but then I realized, that I wasn't even taking the time to read the weekend ads or use them. I told Dad that I was just going to cancel the paper all together, and he said 'Aww, that's nice. It will save me a lot of money each month.' Then I felt REALLY guilty and KNEW there was NO NEED for me to be getting that dumb paper, especially not at HIS dime. So I went online to cancel it all together. THIS is where the story gets fun.
THIS IS THE GOOD PART:
Apparently, if you want to CANCEL your subscription, you can't do it online. You actually HAVE to call the New York Times and cancel by speaking to a person (of all things). So I said, "Alright. You won't get me just because I'm lazy. I'll go the extra mile! I'll call." So I called, and then I was met with the task of going through no less than 15 different automated prompts while they 'directed' my call to the proper place. Now the number I called was the number that the website said to call ONLY if I wanted to CANCEL my account, so I do not know why when I called it they had so many different options for me to choose from like ADDING ADDITIONAL things to my account or getting the paper delivered MORE?!? Sheesh. Whatever. Finally I got to the prompt where it said I could cancel my account. I pressed the button. Then it said, in it's nice computerized voice, "Please wait for someone to come on the line to speak with you and confirm you cancellation." "Great," I thought. "They're gonna try to make me stay!" So I waited and listened to about 5 minutes of elevator music. Finally a girl came on and this conversation ensued:
Girl: Hello. This is Whitley. How may I help you today?
Me: Hi, I'd like to cancel my subscription.
Girl: This is Whitley; how may I assist you?
Me: Hello? I'd like to cancel my newspaper.
Girl: If you are there you are going to have to speak up.
Me: Hello? Can you hear me? I'm trying to close my account! HELLO?!?!?!
Girl: I'm sorry I cannot hear you. You are going to have to call again. Goodbye.
...............................
WHAT THE HECK?????????????????? NO STINKING WAY!!!!!!!!!!!
I was so mad. Ugh. So I sat there stunned thinking NO WAY. NO SHE DID NOT. THIS HAS GOT TO BE ALL A BIG PLOY TO KEEP ME STUCK BUYING THIS DANG PAPER! So I decided I wasn't giving in. I'd call again, no matter how long it too, and I did, and I went through the 15 prompts again, and the 5 minutes of elevator music, and finally another girl picked up who sounded JUST LIKE Whitley, and so it scared me, but then this conversation ensued:
Girl: Hello, This is Lindsey, how may I help you?
Me: Can you hear me?
Girl: (confused) Yeeeeeesss.
Me: Ok good. I'd like to cancel my account.
Girl: May I ask why?
Me: I don't read the papers.
Girl: Well since you've been with us so long, I'd like to over you 50% of your subscription from now on if you'd like to stay or add anything to your account.
Me: (in my head: YOU MEAN YOU COULD SELL ME THE SAME PAPER FOR 50% OFF...??!?!?! THAT IS SUCH CRAP! YOU'VE BEEN RIPPING ME OFF! I SHOULD HAVE TRIED TO CANCEL THREE YEARS AGO AND GOT IT FOR CHEAPER THESE LAST THREE YEARS. THIS IS SUCH BULL. OMGOODNES. GRRRRRRRRRRRRR)
Me: (in reality): No that's ok. I just want to cancel.
Girl: Alright. Are you sure?
Me: Yes!!
Girl: Ok, well I'd like to remind you that you will lose your unlimited privileges online. Are you sure you want to cancel?
Me:Yes!!
Girl: Ok, well I'd also like to know if you'd be willing to take our survey for-
Me: (cutting her off): Sorry I can't. Thank you. goodbye.
Girl: Ok goodbye and thank you for calling the New York Times
Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesh.
So at this point, I decide that I must get up and go tell Jesse this story. And this is where the AMUSING story turns somewhat DISTURBING- (Dad, if you're reading this, stop reading now- in fact, anyone who doesn't want to be disturbed, just stop reading).
So, I get up really quick and dash to our bedroom where Jesse is spending time with God. What I should let you know is that the morning that all of this took place, I was experiencing a very bad migraine with intense dizziness. It was hard to dial the right numbers on the phone to talk to the New York Times lady, and listening to the elevator music and automated voice was torture. So yeah, I was really dizzy and not feeling well at all, and I'd been squatting in my computer desk chair during the entire phone conversation, and when it was over I went straight from that position to standing up and walking to the bedroom quickly to tell Jesse the story.
At the point where I opened the door and began the story by saying "You would not believe what the lady at the New York Times did..." I could feel that hands, feet, legs, and basically whole body were feeling numb and tingly and I was starting to feel fuzzy in my head. It was that feeling of standing up too fast, so I grasped the wall and door knob tightly thinking it would pass b/c I get the 'stand up too fast feeling a lot' due to my very poor circulation that runs in my family, and I'd just stood up really fast, so that was all, right? RIGHT?
....
WRONG
The next thing I remember, I was laying flat on the floor and Jesse and holding my head in his arms.
I'D FAINTED. I freaking passed out. I fell into the door, and the door knocked me sideways, so I fell over backwards and hit the back of my head hard on the ground. Jesse couldn't get to me in time to catch me b/c he was sitting on the bed. He said my whole body started shaking and then I just collapsed. I don't recall any of it. He said the whole thing lasted about 10 seconds. I don't remember falling at all, not one bit. What I DO recall is hearing in my head the stinking New York Times lady saying "I'm sorry, I can't hear you. You're going to have to speak up!" I heard her saying that over and over again. It was like I was asleep and dreaming that, and then I CAN remember hearing Jesse's voice in the middle of that dream saying "you're ok. It's ok," and I remember thinking "how did Jesse get here because I'm in Georgia." And as I was coming to (waking up) I was so confused. I didn't understand that I was in NYC and in my own apartment and married to Jesse. I knew who Jesse was but I was expecting to wake up from my dream in my house in Gerogia. It's weird to explain. I know; it was really strange. I kinda like lost consciousness for a bit I guess, and sections of my memory connected but others didn't??! I donno-
Jesse had me lay there for a bit, and he made me drink some Gatorade. Then he helped me up. I didn't go to work that day, and I my migraine and dizziness passed by the next evening. And after I drank the gatorade I could remember the whole story about the New York Times lady and told him so that we could laugh about it, and he agreed, that's how they get you. Later I told Kim the story, and she said that they do that at People too. They say they'll give you 50% off if you'll stay. So this week I'm going to call and tell my cable company I'm cancelling just so they'll give me 50% off. I'll let you know how it goes. Sheesh.
MORAL OF THE STORY:
1. Be prepared to be patience when cancelling any service
2. Stand up slowly, especially after you've been crouching, and especially if you've been crouching while you are dizzy and with a migraine
3. Read everything online. It's cheaper and easier these days I suppose. Sigh. I miss the days gone by....
Ok that's all- Peace Out and Happy President's Day!
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