In a flash of maturity
one recent Saturday afternoon, I called Time Warner to remove Showtime and add
HBO. Everyone I know had been telling me
that I would like the show Girls, and
frankly, they were right. Even Netflix
knows that I tend to like Quirky TV Shows Featuring a Strong Female Lead. For now, Girls
would have to replace the relationship that I had been having with Dramatic
Series Featuring Mysterious, Brooding Male Lead Who Has Secrets, One of those
Secrets Having Something to Do with Killing People (i.e. Dexter and Homeland).
I didn’t have to wait
long before someone picked up the phone over at Time Warner, and I only got
redirected to the main menu and then another person just once. It was a pretty good start. When the associate asked how she could help
me, I explained the straightforward transaction that needed to take place. She was so thrilled to add HBO for me that I
almost felt happy for her. Would she be
as pumped to remove Showtime? It wasn’t
yet time to find out.
Masterfully, she segued
right into some additional getting-to-know-you chat. She was curious to know how I use my Time
Warner Internet service at home. The
game has to be played, so I humored her.
“I mostly use it for browsing. I
sometimes work from home.” That was my
exact answer, to which she responded, “Because you use the Internet to stream
movies, let me tell you about our new Turbo Internet service.” Her question, of course, was merely a
formality. She had my data right in
front of her. Still, I
participated. “No, thank you.”
She continued to show an
interest in me, with the next line of questioning involving my background and
familiarity with land lines. “My
boyfriend and I use our cell phones at home.” “Do you have a fax machine? You mentioned
that you work from home.” God. “No, I don’t have a fax machine.”
Mercifully, we eventually
reached the end of her list of services to pitch. But what of removing Showtime, new
friend? She had accidentally jumped
right to informing me of the new monthly charges with the addition of HBO. “We actually still need to remove Showtime,”
I reminded her. And then she asked,
"Have you seen Shameless?” Surely she didn’t really think that we were
close girlfriends gabbing on the phone on a Saturday afternoon about our
favorite shows. I was so surprised that
I sort of laughed. “No, I’ve never seen
it.” And then she said, “You should try
watching it! It’s just like
Dexter!”
She was enthusiastic,
because the data clearly showed her that I am a Dexter-lover, and she must have felt like she won big with this
personal connection. I was mad. Perhaps if this was 1994 and I was visiting
my local Blockbuster, I might not feel as violated if a sales person were to
ask me about my personal preferences for entertainment. In modern times, even, I have no problem with
Netflix using my data to steer me in the right direction when I’m overwhelmed
and in need of a programming shaman. But
I don’t want this icky hybrid situation where my data is being used by a human
in an attempt to get me to do things that I don’t want to do. When is it appropriate to reference this data,
and when is it not? I can only imagine
what my conversation would have been like if I had called to cancel Hustler HD
On Demand. “Have you seen Gooey International Creampies #5? It’s just like Barely Legal: As Tight as a Teen!”
