Coffee heat rising

Marketing: Maybe it’s working

Well, my friends, today our naughty girls surpassed 300 followers on Twitter! And they’ve been live there for less than a month. Aunt Tilly is so pleased she’s giving the girls a gala shopping trip at Nordstrom’s.

People have retweeted ads for the Fire-Rider books. And we appear to have proven the theory that the highest and best marketing use of Twitter is NOT to advertise your books but to entertain. While Twitterers (??surely not “Twits”?) have turned up their collective nose at self-serving tweets, they merrily retweet and “favorite” pictures, bons mots, retweets of fun stuff, and links to fun stuff.

They really liked this, for example:

muse
As usual, click on the image for a bigger & better view!

Betcha can’t guess what that’s from…

The “quote” is part of a comment I wrote on a student paper. And I’m sure you’ll remember the public-domain image of the Muse on an ancient Greek vase, since it was ripped off from Wikipedia and posted here a few days ago.

They loved it. And it went over pretty well on Facebook, too.

Moving on, I’ve established a Facebook group for my band of doughty writers. Trouble is, at least a couple of them don’t do Facebook. So we’ll probably still have to communicate by cc’ed email. But it’s kinda kewl to think we have a Group. It’s set up as a “secret” group — meaning only Big Brother can watch us — because a couple of our authors work in professions where letting it be known that they amuse themselves by writing randy fiction could be counterproductive.

In the next couple of days, I’ll set up a Facebook “page” for the girls themselves, thereinat to pitch our wares as they come online. We should be ready to start publishing the p0rn beginning in the first week of October.

We already have a very fun (read “randy”) Hallowe’en story, and the same author has got up to writing a second Hallowe’en piece. Another of our team has a series that can lead up to Thanksgiving (yes…about FAMILY, what else? Don’t you love those family Thanksgivings?). And a third has written a fairly hefty novelette fit for the Christmas season.

By the way, the Girls still don’t have their names, poor babes. One person has posted a suggestion, but one contestant does  not a contest make. Would you go on over to Writers Plain and Simple and add your ideas in the comments to this post? Or if you’d prefer to visit Aunt Tilly and the Girls themselves, the Camptown Ladies name-the-girls post is here. Aunt Tilly will not allow them to use their real names (Chastity and Patience) because she doesn’t think it’s appropriate for nice girls to flaunt themselves in public. As it were.

A Little Coup at the Second-Hand Store

Yesterday I took a nice old skirt that I really love to the tailor at the cleaner’s near the restaurant where the Thursday morning business group meets. It needed a new strip of elastic in the waist.

An outlet of My Sister’s Closet, the upscale resale consignment store, is right next door. Well, I really needed some tops to replace the threadbare rags I’ve been wearing with my vast collection of Costco jeans. So, I thought, why not?

“Why not,” of course, is that place is dangerous. But amazingly, I managed not to spend much money and still came away with a major shopping coup.

Ended up at the racks and racks of second-hand Chico’s outfits. Ordinarily I don’t shop at Chico’s and didn’t, even when I had a job, because I dislike their high-pressure sales tactics and because the 1 through 3 sizing is very annoying. However, with no one hovering over my shoulder or lurking outside the dressing rooms to tell me how “wonderful!” I look in something that makes me look like a potato sack tied in the middle, I thought again, why not?

Incredibly, I found a sheer silk shirt with its price tag still on it, really pretty: they were selling it for $20. And even more incredibly, it fit. The original price was $100!

On the same hanger was a matching beige tank top, also with its original $38  price tag hanging from the collar tag: $8.95!

Can you believe????

Also in the $10 and under range, I got a nice loose-woven crocheted sweater from Jones New York and an awesome matching cami-like thing (only heavier fabric than a cami), both in deep amethyst…perfect for wearing with a red hat. 😉

And a cute little blue sweater that will look great with the blue Sanitas clodhoppers I bought a while back. Since clodhoppers are now about all I can wear, thanks to the endless foot and back agonies, I’ll be getting a lot of use out of those shoes and anything that will go with them.

And a pretty crocheted tank top that will look utterly awesome over the collected Costco camis. And a blue polyester tank that they were practically giving away.

I won’t have to buy any more clothes this winter. Except for networking group shindigs and the rare client meeting, most of the time I live in Costco’s old-lady jeans. Once class finally comes to an end, I’ll have few occasions to wear anything else. These tops will make me feel a lot less grody, and they’ll be acceptable for grocery-store runs and schmoozing with friends. The silk top with its beige tank will work nicely for those Chamber meetings.

To give you an idea of what I mean by Chico’s absurd sizing system, one of these things is a size one, two are size zero(!), and the others are size two.  A history of the chain reveals that this scheme is deliberately designed to confuse buyers about sizing: “A woman who in another store would be wearing a size 16 might be flattered to fit into a 3 at Chico’s.” Right: aren’t us customers dumb?

I’ve found that virtually none of the stuff I find in their stores fits, though it’s hard to tell with the sales staff buzzing around your head like hungry mosquitos. The same business profile reports that “Sales clerks were to make astute judgments about fit and style and also offer accessories or additional pieces of an ensemble.” LOL! That’s a polite way to put it.

At the checkout register, I remarked to the clerk that I never go in to Chico’s because I’m so put off by the high-pressure sales tactics. The sales rep laughed and said she’d been in retailing all her adult life (which, we might add, was probably about as long as mine) and that she also wouldn’t shop there, for the same reason.

“You’ll notice how they don’t have mirrors in the dressing rooms. That’s so you’ll have to go outside the room to look at how things fit in those big mirrors—and so the sales staff can get at you every time you try on anything.

“And,” she added, “those are slimming mirrors. They make you look more slender than you are, so you think the clothes look better on you than they do.” She said when she saw herself in one of those things, she thought, “That’s not me in this mirror!” And she never went back.

🙄

Well, I couldn’t say one way or the other whether that’s true. If the mirrors are “slimming,” it must mean I’m not gonna look any better ten pounds lighter than I do right now, and so I guess I can have a beer with breakfast.

But I can say that almost everything I’ve tried on in Chico’s looks awful on me, and I dislike being pestered and barraged with false flattery so much that I don’t shop there. It was interesting that at My Sister’s Closet, where sales assistance is so low-key as to be nonexistent, I found several things in their brand that I like. It may be that the clothes are OK but the atmosphere in Chico’s stores is discouraging.

Am I the only one who finds high-pressure sales tactics SO off-putting as to actually negate any impulse to buy things?

 

Safeway’s Latest Gimmick: Enough, Already?

The Times takes note today of Safeway’s latest scheme to make customers think they’re getting bargains, thereby inducing them to buy more junk. The stores here in town have been pestering customers for months, trying to get us to sign up for this “program,” which creepily tracks your buying history through the red loyalty card and pitches products to you by offering alleged discounts on things it thinks you’re likely to buy. Cutely called “Just for U,” the program makes you cough up your e-mail address so the corporation can send you digitized coupons, which are loaded onto your red card. Discounts offered to you are based on your shopping habits, which Safeway has tracked and analyzed through your use of the red card.

The website where you go to sign up for this thing is short on information about exactly what it is and how you use it, for the obvious reason that there are some things you’re better off (from Safeway’s point of view) not knowing. Evidently they want you to sign up without thinking too hard about it.

These tracking programs, into which consumers are lured by purported discounts (i.e., those who don’t have a loyalty card pay more than the normal retail price, while those who agree to carry one around and let the corporation track their every purchase pay a fair price), are highly invasive. Corporations don’t want to “offer” you a loving blandishment; they want to sell you stuff, and they’ve learned they can manipulate you by spying on you and analyzing your buying habits. Retailers, for example, would  love to know when you divorce, because you’re more likely to start buying a different brand of beer then, or to purchase whole new sets of trash baskets and kitchen utensils.

This strategy has already had some not altogether benign results. One father, for example, was surprised to learn his high-school-age daughter was pregnant when Target, having divined the fact by what she bought, started mailing her coupons for baby clothes and cribs.

Target is so secretive about its snooping program that when a Times reporter looking into it sent the company’s PR people a prepublication summary of his reporting, he was told every statement was inaccurate, but they would not address any part of the reporting to enlighten him. When he tried to make an appointment to discuss the alleged inaccuracies, they refused to meet with him. When he went in person to Target’s corporate headquarters, he was told he was on a list  of prohibited visitors.

What, really, do they not want you to know about what they know about you? That question alone should tell us something.

Besides the obvious invasion of privacy, there are other reasons to object to favored-customer plans:

1. They’re elitist. You have to own a computer and, for best results you need a smart phone. Not everyone can afford a smart phone, and some people aren’t too clever with computers, either.

2. They add another layer of nuisance to shopping, an already onerous proposition: now you have to go online to check the day’s offers before you head out the door for another trudge through the stores, where you will have to check and bag your own purchases.

3. They’re budget-busters: they lure you to buy products you don’t really need. Today’s Times piece describes a Maryland woman who chose to buy a large bottle of cranberry juice rather than the smaller bottle of cran-apple juice she normally buys and to pick up a package of “discounted” Cocoa Puffs. (Yech! Is there any question why the average American consumes 156 pounds of sugar a year?)

4. Information about your private habits can be used against you just as easily as it can be used to offer you a glowing “bargain” on junk food you shouldn’t waste your money on. This data, folks, can be subpoenaed and, more to the point, it can be sold. The government isn’t allowed to invade your privacy without good reason and a court order, but we allow huge corporations to do so, and those corporations have no limits on who they can sell that information to. Your private habits not only can reveal whether you’re a pregnant 16-year-old, they also can show whether you’ve taken up your old smoking habit again, what and how much you drink, whether you eat a healthy diet or whether you favor Cocoa Puffs and sugary “juice,” whether and how often you buy prescription or OTC medications for ailments like migraines and GERD.

This information can be used against you. Do you really want your soon-to-be ex-spouse’s lawyer to get her hands on records of how much alcohol you buy or whether you buy condoms or birth control pills your spouse doesn’t ever see you use? Do you really want an insurance company to learn, secretly, about your drinking and smoking habits, or about aches and pains that could mean higher premiums or outright denial of coverage?

5. It’s fundamentally unfair to offer one person a lower price because she doesn’t know better than to allow a corporation to track her every move or because she can afford a smart phone and a computer. By its nature, then, Safeway’s favored customer scheme disadvantages the poor, the laid-off, the cautious, and the elderly.

6. They jack up prices all the way across the board. You don’t really believe Safeway is giving away stuff to everybody who consents to being spied on, do you? In fact what’s happening is all the prices in the store go up, and the so-called discounts are mark-downs off inflated prices.

Personally, I would like to see legislation prohibiting retailers from collecting, storing, or analyzing individual consumers’ purchases and shopping habits. In our present political climate, where elected leaders are purchased by well-heeled corporate interests, of course that’s never going to happen.

Welp, in my case I can’t very well take advantage of Safeway’s new spying digital coupon program, because my red card was taken out in the name of my now deceased German shepherd, and the phone number was that of the local Safeway headquarters. I got the number out of a telephone book—it was that long ago!—and I don’t even own a phone book anymore. It’s unlikely that the CIA Safeway publicizes the number of its local corporate offices on the Internet.

So. It’s a good reason to buy local. It’s a good reason to shop at stores that don’t demand you carry a card around or sign up at an online spy shop, even if you have to pay more for the privilege. It’s a good reason to grow your tobacco in the backyard.

Images:

Safeway before Opening. Mattie B from Santa Cruz. Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.
Tobacco in blossom.  kevinbercaw. Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license

A “Gift” from Sears

Lenten thanks, Day 29

A gray morning; a soft soaking rain falls from the sky. Blossoming plants shiver with joy at the last good drink of fresh rainwater before the blast of summer comes up. Not bad, God! Definitely an A+.

So some time back M’hijito needed a new dryer. Since he pays cash for everything, we put it on my AMEX card so I could rack up a little more in the annual rebate kickback, and he forked over the dollars to me. Sears’s come-on to buy appliances just then was an $80 mail-in rebate offer.

I always figure those are a rip. “Mail-in rebate” too often means “no rebate”: even when you remember to gather all the ditzy pieces of paper required, fill out a form asking for information that’s none of their business, and stuff it all into an envelope, half the time you never get any money back. But nothing ventured, nothing gained: shortly after we acquired the dryer, I shipped off the paperwork. That was several months ago.

Now comes in the mail from Sears the rebate…in the form of a debit card! It’s a preloaded Mastercard debit card.

No cash. Noooo….  You’re expected not to drop the money in your savings, but to diddle it away at restaurants and the like. You can transfer the money to your bank account, but this requires you to go online and share all the details of your bank account with Citibank’s Visa employees. You can get cash off the card, but only if you use an approved ATM. If you don’t use ATMs (as those of us for whom cash washes through the fingers like water tend not to do), you’ll just have to spend it.

Okay. So it’s M’hijito’s birthday. I figure $40 apiece would buy us a very nice dinner at a much tonier greasy spoon than we are accustomed to frequenting, and I propose to invite him out to celebrate.

Then I start to look at the swath of fine print that comes with this thing.

It has a $3.00 “account management fee,” which kicks in if you don’t start using the thing. If you use the it outside the U.S.—say in Nogales, a 90-minute drive from here—you get dinged 3% per transaction. If you have not used up the money by the expiration date, they apply a $3.00/month gouge. You are limited to a maximum of 12 transactions a day (“or your daily limit,” whatever that is). To find out what “your daily limit” of transactions is, you have to log onto their website, whose URL is not given. Under the federal anti-terrorism laws, you are required to give them your correct name, correct address, and correct telephone number. They will share this information and any other personal information they gather with whomever they please unless you fill out a separate form, put it in a separate envelope (which you supply) with a separate stamp (which you supply), and mail it off.

It is an “account.” You can reload this card with cash by depositing money with Citibank, and from now until the end of time can pay for junk with plastic. For a fee.

So, I wonder…if they nick you three bucks every time you turn around and this thing is an open “account,” presumably they’re going to start charging you a bank fee of $3 a month whenever it runs out of cash? And it’ll be quite a trick to figure out how much cash is on the thing, right? Because you’ll never know exactly what day of the month they decide to engross three bucks out of this “rebate” gift. And am I right in thinking that effectively Sears has set up a bank account for me, which I have not asked for, at an institution with which I do not choose to do business?

😯

Looking this gift horse in the mouth, I call the number on the card and after just one runaround reach one Duane, a human. When I ask how the $3 nick works and how I go about canceling this thing as soon as I can spend the $80 so generously “given” to me, he admits that on request they’ll send me a check. Great, say I: please do send a check.

Supposedly this vast lucre will show up in the mail sometime in the next couple of weeks. I’ll believe it when I see it.

😀

Really, I do dislike mail-in rebates. They’re such a nuisance. And this new twist is plain annoying. What’s difficult about just sending the money in the first place? Or better yet: How’s about giving customers a fair price in the store, rather than making us jump through hoops to shave off a few bucks?

 

When DIY doesn’t save much

In theory, my pool needs to be drained and refilled. Over time, hard-water particulates and chemicals build up in pool water, especially in Arizona low desert, where hard, salty water is now piped in from the Central Arizona Project.

I’ve resisted this for a year, since I’m always skeptical when someone comes up with an extra way to take my money away from me. However, it’s pretty clear they’re right: a band of white hard-water scale keeps building up on the tiles. Though it will wash off with in a hard spray from the hose, that job is a hassle under the best of circumstances and mighty unpleasant in the winter, when the air is cold.

Cost of the job is generally estimated at $200. An alternative to draining and refilling is to have a company come around with a gigantic filter in a truck and spend the day filtering the entire 18,000 gallons. That also costs $200. One way or the other, I figure I’d better get this done before my monthly income drops to half of its current munificent flow.

So. This morning I call Leslie’s. Their CSR quotes a price of $95.

Izzat so? say I.

Well…yes, but: the $95 is just to have a guy come over here with a pump, drop it in, and turn it on. I could do that myself, and I’ll bet the rental would be a darn sight less than ninety-five bucks. No chemicals, no start-up, no nothin’ else is included. I ask how much the chemicals would be. He doesn’t know: you have to go to your local Leslie’s store to find that one out.

I call Swimming Pool Service and Repair, the outfit that rebuilt my pool after it was vandalized. Alyssa, their longtime despatcher, says it’s $185 to drain, refill, and restart the pool. That includes the chlorine, stabilizer, and acid, and yes, they do the entire job for you.

Back on the phone, this time to the local Leslie’s outlet. How much for the chemicals to restart 18,000 gallons of pool water?

Well. It’s $36 a gallon for the “conditioner” (which I take to mean stabilizer but am not sure), and you need two gallons. Then you need the shock treatment, for which he did not quote an amount but which I know to cost a little over $8, plus the usual 8.3% sales tax. So now we’re up to $86.64, and we haven’t paid for acid, which I happen to have on hand and which he doesn’t think will be needed anyway but which we know will be needed because CAP water tends to the basic. So for a mostly DIY project, I’d pay at least $182, compared to $185 to have someone who knows what he’s doing come and do the whole job for you.

Factor into the equation that if you dork with the chemicals yourself and mess it up, it’s your problem; if a pool company applies the chemicals and something goes awry, they’ll come and fix it.

Interesting play on consumer psychology. Leslie’s strategy of having you buy and pour in the chemicals leads you to assume that you’ll save money by doing part of the job—probably the most difficult part, we might add, given that these caustic compounds need to be applied carefully and in the right order. Consider the advantages to Leslie’s:

Leslie’s collects $95 for about a half-hour of an employee’s time and the wear & tear on one submersible pump.

Leslie’s sells you the chemicals at the retail price instead of including them, at wholesale, as part of the job.

Because the consumer does most of the work, Leslie’s doesn’t have to pay an employee to do the entire job and do it right.

Leslie’s escapes any liability for incorrect application of chemicals—the company doesn’t have to stand behind the quality of work done when it does no work.

The consumer, after paying the full retail price for the chemicals, assumes all responsibility and liability for their use.

By the time taxes are paid on the Swimming Pool Service and Repair bid, their fee comes to about $195. In the best-case scenario (which experience suggests is never the likeliest scenario), Leslie’s underbids Swimming Pool Service and Repair by about $13, but I end up doing all the work, and I get no warranty or service support whatsoever.

Makes that extra thirteen bucks sound like a bargain, doesn’t it?

How to get rich on Black Friday

Saint_Nicholas
Saint Nicholas

Comes the American Express statement in the mail, bearing good tidings. In only two more months, our annual rebate will be comin’ your way.

Here’s a strategy, we’re told, “to give yourself or your family something special from Costco”: use the holidays as an opportunity to buy, buy, BUY and charge it all up on your credit card!!!

Woo. Hooo. I can hardly wait to run out to the sales tomorrow and rack up several thousand dollars worth of debt, so I can get a few bucks back.

As  practical matter, if you have one of these cash-back cards and you religiously pay off the balance every month, you don’t have to go out and spend yourself stupid during the holidays (or any other time) to get a nice kickback. I put all my budgeted discretionary spending on this card—that is, everything that is not a regularly recurring utility or insurance bill—and pay the entire balance promptly. AMEX says the rebate I’ve accrued so far is $276.04.

Nice. That will cover the cost of draining and refilling the pool. Merry Christmas!

The ghost of Christmas Present visits Ebenezer Scrooge
The ghost of Christmas Present visits Ebenezer Scrooge

Images:
St. Nicholas of Myra: Cultural Universe. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 2.5 Wikipedia Commons.
Ghost of Christmas Present: John Leach, from Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol. Public Domain. Wikipedia Commons.