The other day I noticed a hefty charge for a popular virus scanner on our bank statement. I didn’t remember using the product, much less buying it for more than I would ever agree to pay. I visited their website to find the customer service number and logged in with my email address to see if I had an account. Sure enough, I was a subscriber. Clicking on my account history showed a subscription package for 2023 for significantly less than they had just charged me. It took me some head-scratching to realize I hadn’t been scammed by a virus scanner (which might be ironic) but instead, a simple victim of auto-renew.
I thought back to the summer of 2023, which seems like a long time ago, and remembered I had bought a tiny Chromebook for my trip to Ireland. It came with a 30-day trial for the virus scanner and a special deal on a year’s worth of security scanning. Mystery almost solved. The customer service line said I could call them 24/7 and cancel my account, so I decided to give it a whirl one late evening after work. What they didn’t tell me on the web page is that I’d have to listen to 10 minutes of the support person trying to scare me into staying on as a subscriber, including telling me the virus scanner had protected my Gmail account from being compromised nine times by scammers on the dark web. I listened quietly to the scenarios he shared about the many ways the software was protecting me, but I still asked for my money back. I’m not suggesting that virus scanning software is unnecessary — I just happen to have a different one I use on my machines.
“Ma’am,” he asked politely, “I see the reason you were charged so much is that you are paying for a 50-user account.” Why would my trial subscription upgrade to a 50-user account, I wondered, but didn’t want to debate him on that. “What if I offered you a single-user account for less than what you paid last year, just $29?” he asked. For a brief second, I reconsidered. But I shook it off and told him I’d still like a refund as I didn’t need the software. I rocked out to some cheerful hold music while he ran the refund, then politely thanked me and encouraged me to call back in the future for an even better deal.
I love a good deal. I’m a sucker for a 30-day trial or a discounted dollar-a-month membership of a magazine or newspaper. I think this goes back to my membership in the old Columbia Record and Tape Club where you sent in a penny and got 11 records or cassette tapes sent to you, with an additional bonus of three more cassettes if you sent them a check for $5.98 along with your penny to cover the shipping and handling. You also agreed to buy a minimum number of cassettes over three years as part of the deal. They would send a postcard highlighting the “artist of the month” which would automatically ship to you if you didn’t return the postcard before the deadline. I was terrible at returning those postcards, which meant my post office box would be filled with selections like “Yodeling To The Oldies” or “Heavenly Harmonica Harmonies” or some other ghastly cassette no one else wanted to buy from their catalog. Eventually, I smartened up and quit the club. There were better things to spend my limited student funds on, like pizza and beer.
Now I try to put in calendar reminders for cancellation dates when I get sucked into those great limited-time offers. Whether it’s the Walmart Plus membership with free delivery renewing in October unless I cancel it or the three-month free trial of the Unlimited Sips Club at Panera, I know there’s no such thing as a free lunch (although sometimes there’s a free bakery item). I also look through my PayPal transactions and online bank statements regularly to see if there’s an auto-renewal I forgot about that managed to squeak through. And I have to say, most companies are pretty kind about refunding a renewal if you call them within a certain number of days. But a few make canceling so difficult you end up keeping your subscriptions to “Crockpot Cuisine” and figure you’ll try some of those recipes one of these days.