The First Journey Down the Rabbit-Hole

While writing my first novel I discovered my theme. Proust asserts that every writer only really has one theme, and every new work is a renewed attempt to express that theme, or a piece of it, better than the last work did. (If I could find the quote I would provide it, but those books are huge.) And so, while I was writing a novel that turned out to be about the way our lives are like stories that we tell to ourselves, I realized that this is the idea I will probably explore for my entire life. In my newest work, a play based on the infamous cadaver synod, I examine the ways institutions lie to us, but how the power of a good example, a good story, even if it’s just propaganda, can still transcend its manipulative origins.

Segue to this new blog.

As you can guess from the title, it will focus on the lies we’re told, and how those lies are used to exploit us. But from time to time I hope to also tell the other story, about how we’re able to, let’s just say, take a sad song and make it better. I’ll try to keep it light and entertaining, to restrain the impulse toward outrage that can make an outrageous subject seem muddy and clouded, thereby weakening its impact. But when anger is called for, angry I will be.

And now, a first taste of the kinds of things I’ll be dealing with:

Gift Cards and Calling Cards

For several years, my dearly-departed grandfather was fond of giving me, for Christmas, gift cards to restaurants I never visit. He didn’t know I never go to Outback Steakhouse or Chili’s, and there’s nothing wrong with them, they’re just not the sorts of places I happen to go. In his mind I’m sure he figured that they were big chains, very popular, and surely I would have occasion to enjoy a nice meal sometime, and to think of him when I did.

But since I never go to those restaurants, the gift cards sat in a pile and languished. The money he spent was wasted, his good intentions squandered.

The restaurants love this.

Because it’s free money for them. Those gift cards sat in a pile for three, four, five years before I discovered cardpool.com and got cash for them. (And, presumably, they were then bought by someone who was actively seeking cards for those exact restaurants. Win-win, at last.) Five years of money that Outback Steakhouse was able to use, and collect interest on, without providing any kind of service whatsoever. Remember, too, that the value of a gift card actually decreases over time.

Yes, the value of the card is static: a $25 gift card is always worth $25. But if a burger cost $7.95 in 2009, then a group of three people could each have a burger and the whole meal would fit on one card. But if the cost goes up to $8.95 a year later, now they would have to add cash on top of the gift card amount. The card is the same, but what it will buy has decreased. So if the card sits in a pile for a year and then you go out to dinner, you’re still getting less than you would have when the card was new. Advantage: the restaurant. Disadvantage: you.

And if the card expires, as some do? Or if you simply never go, and you never discover a service like cardpool.com? Twenty-five bucks, multiplied by the hundreds or thousands of people like yourself. A boatload of free money to these places, for which they have provided absolutely nothing.

Calling cards are even worse.

The existence of these pernicious instruments has, thankfully, waned with the rise of the cellphone. But remember that there are prepaid cellular cards as well, which operate on the same principle: you prepay a set amount onto a card, then use that card to make local or, more often, long-distance calls. It was presented to the public as a great way for college students to stay in touch with home, without being saddled with big phone bills. Something that keeps families connected, what could possibly be wrong with that?

No one can possibly make a phone call that costs exactly $10. That’s what’s wrong with that.

If our hypothetical student makes a call that goes over the face amount of the card, his call might be cut off, or he might get charged for the overage on his bill. Neither is great, but whatever. But what the phone company loves, and hopes you’ll do a lot, is to make a call that ends up costing $9.78.

Because with just 22 cents left on the card, it’s almost certain that you will throw it away. A 22-cent loss is no big deal to you—but again, multiply it. Tens of thousands of people throwing away 5 cents, 22 cents, even a dollar or two. Free money to the phone companies, who have provided nothing in exchange. To follow our example to its conclusion, if 10,000 people leave exactly 22 cents on their respective cards, that adds up to $2,200 for the phone company. And I’m sure the number of cards out there vastly exceeds 10,000.

But you bought the card because they advertised it with warm rosy tones, talking about how you’ll be able to keep in touch with Johnny now that he’s gone off to school. When, in fact, they’re secretly hoping that Johnny will get so involved in school that he won’t call at all, that he’ll forget he has that stupid card in the first place. And if that means that your family disintegrates a little in the process, well, that’s fine—so long as they can get your free money.

There’s no such thing as a free lunch? The hell there ain’t. Trouble is, you’re never invited--rather, you’re the one providing it.