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June 28, 2004 A few months ago, I changed long-distance carriers and got the lower rates I wanted and three magazines I didn’t. A magazine was supposed to be part of the deal — switch carriers and get a year’s subscription to a magazine for free. I got to choose one of three magazines, and I politely told the woman on the phone I didn’t want any of them. It seemed simple enough. Soon, I received the first bill from the new carrier, and lo and behold, there was a substantial savings, just as I had been promised. All was right with the world. Then one day a copy of Popular Mechanics came in the mail. Don’t get me wrong; Popular Mechanics is a fine publication, but it’s over my head – way over my head. My flair with mechanics begins with a hammer and ends with duct tape. I would no more subscribe to Popular Mechanics than I would subscribe to Good Housekeeping or Family Circle. But it was there in my mailbox. There had to have been a mistake, and I soon discovered what it was. The magazine was addressed to ‘Rhomas Harris.’ Some underpaid clerical worker at the phone company typed an ‘R’ instead of a ‘T’ 22 years ago, and I’ve been Rhomas to them ever since. The local phone company also handled the billing for my previous long-distance carrier, so it was pretty obvious to me that the Popular Mechanics in my mailbox had something to do with the signing bonus I had so gracefully declined. Still, having a few copies of Popular Mechanics scattered around the house isn’t a bad thing. The magazine might not scream ‘macho!’ but does have an aura of capable nerdiness about it. People see a copy of it on the coffee table and immediately start wondering what’s going on out in the garage. They’d like to ask me, but they’re afraid they wouldn’t understand and they grow humble in the presence of my apparent ingenuity. I like that. But things didn’t stop there. A week or two later I found a copy of Good Housekeeping in my mailbox. It too was addressed to Rhomas Harris. I’m 56-years-old and live alone, so I could do with some good housekeeping, but I worry about having the magazine in the house and what it might say about me. Besides, blurbs such as “21 bathing suits that hide the flab” just don’t resonate with me. Then came Family Circle. My ex-wife was a great reader of Family Circle, she would buy a copy every time she went to the grocery store. I never understood it. The cover of every issue promised “35 easy-to-make, sinfully rich desserts” and three or four diets “guaranteed to help you lose 35 pounds in 30 days.” In between there would always be a flood of medical hysteria: “The Common Cold: Your Next One Might Kill You.” Finally, there were the compatibility tests, which I was forced to take but always failed. And now Rhomas Harris was a subscriber to that fine periodical. I was so excited, and everyday I rushed home from work to see if another issue had arrived. In time, each of the three publications sent a letter telling me my subscription would expire after three issues if I didn’t act now. My favorite was the one from Family Circle; it was sent from the Preferred Subscription Division. It’s kind of special to be contacted by the Preferred Subscription Department when you prefer not to have a subscription. Apparently, it’s still the same magazine I came to know and love years ago. The letter lists eight benefits I’ll derive from subscribing to Family Circle. No. 2 is “Quick and easy recipes your family will love,” and No. 6 is “Ways to lose weight without hardly trying,” whatever that means. Oh well. The magazines will stop coming pretty soon. But what about the letters urging me to subscribe to the magazines. I fear Rhomas Harris has picked up three lifelong pen pals. ------------ About the author: By day, Harris works with mentally retarded adults in a sheltered workshop; by night, he is a sportwriter for the Star Beacon (Ashtabula, OH). Email: tharris508@yahoo.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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