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illustration by Jason Stout |
story I had written. The other was from a major phone company as an incentive to
choose them as my long distance carrier. The magazine check and its amount was
exactly as I had expected. The phone company check was completely out of the blue. Even
more perplexing was the fact that I could receive more money from a company for
doing nothing than I did from a magazine for services rendered. During the first
few months of my life as a freelance writer, these incentive checks became more
dependable than the checks I garnered in exchange for my words. I’ve gotten so much
promotional money from long distance companies in the past year that I wonder if I’ll have to
declare it on my taxes as extra income. Any book I ever write will be dedicated to my
benevolent long-distance companies for their unconditional support.
The first phone check I received was for $25. This, I figured, was a
one-shot deal: Cash the check, switch companies, and never be enticed by their antes
again. Hey, 25 bucks is 25 bucks. I was broke and willing to trek into the territory
of the unknown. All these years devoted to one company, I had no idea what
temptations lay on the other side.
A short time later, I got a matching $25 check from my former company to
switch back. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I cashed that check too.
They responded so quickly. How flattering! Several weeks later, I got
another check from the same company which had sent the original $25 check. To
cash this check must be wrong, right? I thought perhaps it might be illegal, so I
read the fine print and then re-read the fine print. There was nothing in there
indicating one-time eligibility. Not one word implied that I would be in any way
beholden to them, now, later, or for any length of time. All I had to do was sign, accept
them as my long distance carrier, and deposit the check.
That I could do.
I made 75 bucks without so much as breaking a sweat. A couple weeks later,
I got a call from the second suitor. The operator wanted to know why I had left
them so fast. She spoke as if my switching somehow sullied my good character. She
insinuated that I was fickle, interrogating me like a spurned lover. Finally getting to
the point, and with no hint of irony in her condescending tone, she asked why I
left. In no uncertain terms I told her.
“Money.”
She sounded hurt. Defensive. “You think you can save money by using
that company?”
“I have no idea. I’m just telling you they sent me money. Same as you
did.” I was as frank as I could be without hurting her. If there were any
differences in rates they were minimal enough to make it not worth figuring out. The only
savings that concerned me was the savings account that fattened with each check
deposited.
“Is your loyalty for sale?” she asked. I laughed. She remained
silent. She wasn’t joking. She was really trying to make me feel bad — as if this
were some sort of moral dilemma. Her somber tone did little to calm my hysterics.
“You bought me before,” I uttered between laughs. “You can
buy me again.”
“How much did they send you?” she poked.
“Thirty-five dollars,” I lied. I don’t know why I lied, but I
lied. It was a dare I guess.
Without so much as a pause, she met my challenge. So nonexistent was her
hesitation that I wished I had lied more extravagantly. All my life, I had been told
that lying didn’t pay. Another life lesson foiled.
“Oh, we can beat that. We are so convinced that you will be happier
with our services, that we will send you a check for $50. Will you switch for $50
to let us prove to you that we are the company for you?”
Prove away, my friend. Prove away.
Was her vow of my greater happiness a guarantee? The only way I would be
less happy would be if I couldn’t make a phone call. If I could dial a number and
successfully reach someone on the other end, I would be satisfied. However, that didn’t
assure more happiness, it only assured equal happiness. The $50 check
was her assurance of greater happiness, however fleeting, I suppose.
As I endorsed the check, I realized the operator was right. That $50 check
made me giddy as a schoolgirl. Over the next few months more checks came. Each and
every one made me positively euphoric!
Back and forth I went, no longer even sure which company held my account.
Each time I switched, the stakes increased a little bit. As $25 became $50, so $50
became $60 and $75. I pitted one company against the other, attempting to provoke
jealousy in a relationship in which I felt no love at all. Like a bored princess, I
played them like pawns. A few months of this jilting and reconciliation netted over
$500.
Eventually, they seemed to catch on, and their checks ceased. No love
lost… my business, or “loyalty” as they liked to call it, remained with
the last one to seduce me with the most dollars.
As if in a dead-end, mediocre marriage, I remained with the last carrier,
feeling neither blues nor bliss. Day in, day out our relationship was nothing more
than services provided and a monthly bill. The courtship phase was over, and we found
ourselves entrenched in the day-to-day drudgery of long-distance commitment. Through
six months of commitment apathy, I ceased having daydreams of new suitors.
Then one day, I saw something in the mail: a brightly colored envelope
embossed with my name on it! I inspected it cautiously, nervously familiar with this
style of correspondence. I checked the return address again and again. Still, I was
not convinced. Did they really need me? Did they really want me back? If so, for
how much?
Slowly, I opened the envelope and glanced inside, hopeful yet hesitant.
One glimpse and I knew. They wanted me back in a big, bad way. It wasn’t $25, $50, nor
even $75. Screaming out from the “Pay to the order of” line was the
outrageously irresistible figure of $100!! Signed, With Love, Your Phone Company.
Could they have me? Would I be theirs?
With a stroke of the pen and a ride to the bank I was back in the arms of
my ex once again.
A short while later, an operator from one of the smaller phone companies
called to find out why I had switched back to that other company. I could
tell by her tone that she was ready to give me a prepared speech as to why I
shouldn’t fall for their conglomerate ways. I answered her with a simple declaration,
“They sent me 100 bucks.”
She started her speech. “I’m well aware that some of the bigger
companies are able to entice you to their side with checks and gifts but…” she
paused. “Did you say $100??!! For that kind of money, I’d switch too!”
Guessing that she worked on commission, I wanted to remain encouraging.
“Call me back in a week or so.” I whispered seductively. “I’ll be ready
to get rid of them by then.”
This month I received a clipping in the mail forwarded to me by my mom.
Written across the top in mom’s handwriting was: “You are probably responsible
for this!!” The clipping included a one paragraph blurb: Promotions. End to Checks:
Have you been cashing incentive checks from long-distance companies on and off the
past several years, taking advantage of the battle to win customers through such
promotions? No more. Customers who haven’t already switched, no longer will be lured with
checks of up to $100. The largest long-distance phone company decided last week to
end all such promotions aimed at winning back customers. The company spent about two
billion dollars a year issuing such checks.
The checks stopped coming many months ago, but I’m assured by others that
the checks are still out there. While they might not be as loose and free with
their cash, the big companies are still free with their rewards, taking a bit of a
different tack to assure corporate loyalty. As of a week ago, I switched yet again.
This particular relationship might last a bit longer than the previous ones. Not only was I
enticed with promises of low rates 24 hours a day, but I was offered things which I
can only collect over months of commitment: 1,000 bonus miles per month on the airline
of my choice and a reimbursement check for a portion of the entire year’s bill,
if I behave and stick with them — a kind of anniversary present, I suppose.
Beyond that, who knows what rewards I shall reap?
Ours is a relationship with no diamond rings, no bands of gold, no
three-tiered cake, and no lifetime commitment. But you know, this time, I just might
settle down. Ordinarily, I’m the jealous type, but hey, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to
get a little of this action for yourself. What do you have to lose?
This article appears in June 27 • 1997 and June 27 • 1997 (Cover).