OK, perhaps “stalking” is too strong.
Three months ago, while attending an Angels game with my kids, I came across a woman selling Register subscriptions in the stadium concourse. She was all alone at a table, looking sorta glum. So, hey, I’m a newspaper guy who loves to read. I subscribed—snagging my daughter a free Angels T-shirt in the process. The newspapers began to arrive, and I enjoyed it. There are some truly excellent writers—Bill Oram, who covers the Angels, in one of my favorites. Mirin Fader, an up-and-comer I’ve gotten to know, is also terrific.
But, eh, the paper isn’t. It’s like 80 percent of other struggling publications these days—an ever-fading news hole, more ads than content, fluff front-page stories written to suck in mindless readers. Plus, the paper’s always laying people off, treating writers like dogs. On and on. So, about three weeks ago, I called to unsubscribe …
… and nobody answered.
So I went online to unsubscribe …
… and nobody responded.
I called my credit card company, demanding a STOP PAYMENT on the Register. That kicked in immediately …
… but the paper still comes.
So, finally, I sat on hold and sat on hold, and eventually got a real person. A real person! At the Register! Who said he’d cancel my subscription! Immediately!
The paper continues to come.
At this point, it’s crabgrass to my soul. Please, Register, stop coming. I’m thrilled with my online New York Times subscription, and no longer need your services.