I am the gullible sort

I am the gullible sort, easily led astray, the kind of person who, when someone says "Let's," replies, "Yes! Okay! Let's!" So I'm going to come right out and admit it: I got suckered in by those 123FreeCreditReport dot com commercials.

You know, the one where the guy sings about how he married his dream girl, he married his dream girl, but she didn't tell him her credit was bad. That song earwormed its way into my subconscious and one day I found myself deciding I wanted very much to live in a pleasant suburb, and not in the basement at my mom and dad's.

So I went to 123FreeCreditReport dot com, and I learned that in order to obtain my free credit report, I had to give them a credit card number. Because to get your free credit report, you have to become a member of 123FreeCreditReport dot com to the tune of $14.95 a month, but you can cancel anytime.

Which is what I did on Sunday morning. I looked up my credit score, then decided to cancel my membership.

This is where things got complicated. I had to do a lot of searching on their website to find a phone number to call in order to cancel. Then after I found the phone number, I had to go through some automated rigmarole before I reeled in a customer service agent.

His name was Jim, and I was on the phone with him for eight minutes and fifty-three seconds. His job was to try to talk me out of canceling my membership, and even Jim understood his is a cruddy cruddy job, one no sane person could have much enthusiasm for. Jim was obviously reading his end of the conversation from a check-list that went:

1. I am sorry to hear you are thinking about canceling; may I ask why?

2. Are you aware that it is important to protect yourself from identity theft and monitoring your credit score every day will allow you to do this?

3. Your membership doesn't expire until March 13. Why don't you maintain your membership until then?

4. To keep you as a valued customer, I will offer your membership at 50% off (when I asked if that price was indefinite, he sadly told me, no, it was only for three months.)

I was home alone on Sunday morning, but I wasn't bored and I wasn't lonely, and I'd spent all morning doing my Sunday morning routine which is going through my address book looking for friends to call. I called this person and then I called that person, and it's safe to say that I spent close to four hours talk talk talking to people, not to mention all the people I called Friday night and throughout the day on Saturday. So I should have been all talked out.

But while I was talking to Jim--my end of the conversation was mostly just saying things like no, I want to cancel my membership and yes, I'm sure I want to cancel my membership and thank you, but I really do want to cancel my membership--I pictured myself as the backup singer in a music video. Like Jim was the rapper, all decked out in grille and bling, and I was the sexy writhing girl wearing a shiny bra and little panties that say HAVE SOME across the seat, and Jim rapped and rapped his various points while I writhed and repeated the chorus. I got a case of the giggles. A bad case of the giggles that I think disrupted Jim's reading of the check-list. And I got to enjoying our conversation so much that I was almost sorry when he finally gave in and gave up and gave me what I wanted: a cancellation.

And then I had another vision of myself, some insight into my future: I am going to be the kind of old lady that likes--no, loves--when telephone solicitors call. A few years back, when I was working on the John Kerry campaign, I had to call registered Democrats in Mesa County and encourage them to get out and vote. I ended up on the phone with the kind of old lady I am certain to become. She assured me she was going to vote for Kerry. She told me she's voted straight Democrat since 1953. She told me her daughter lived in Denver. She told me she has a little dog. Every time I made a move toward ending the conversation, she piped up with another self-revelation that required a response: I've got the gout! George Bush is a crook! My son lives in Tempe! When I finally got off the phone with her, some of the other campaign volunteers expressed sympathy but I honestly didn't mind talking to her. I thought she was pretty cute.

When Jim finally understood that I wasn't going to stop writhing while singing I want to cancel, ooohhh baby, yeah, I want to cancel, I told him thank you for being so kind and helpful. I fought the urge to tell him Jim, I have a kitten! Jim, my son's goldfish died! Jim, I have to go to a meeting at 9:30 tomorrow morning! I love you, Jim! Jim, you're a nice guy with a cruddy job!