I learned my first lesson in the cold hard realities of life when I was about 10 or 11 years old. I saw an ad that said if I wanted to be a writer, I should send a sample of my writing to them and a “famous writer” would personally evaluate it for me absolutely free of charge. I couldn’t believe it. A FAMOUS WRITER was going to read what I wrote and tell me whether it was good or not. And for free.
I dashed off a story and sent it in quite sure that the next thing to happen would be the appearance of this “FAMOUS WRITER” at my home telling my parents what a budding genius they had on their hands. From there, my fantasy took off into a world in which my genius got me out of school because I was just so good at writing that I was given my grade school, high school and college diploma without having to actually attend any classes. This fantasy worked for me on a variety of levels, most especially on the level where I would never actually have to take another math class in my lifetime.
Alas though, it was not to be. No famous writer showed up at my father’s store. Someone did show up, just not the famous writer. About a month after I sent my story in, a gentleman showed up looking to enroll me in the famous writer’s school. Apparently my story had passed their critical standards test by being written in English and containing a return address.
My parents were not amused. I remember standing in the back of the story feeling more totally humiliated than I ever had in my life as my mother castigated the man for trying to pull a scam on a young child. I guess I forgot to mention my age when I sent the submission in, though you would think the big block letters would have been a dead give away.
Anyhow, I never did get into that famous writer’s school as is evidenced by the fact that the fame, fortune and riches promised as my reward for enrolling have never materialized. And my heart was broken when my parents explained that the ad was just a come-on to get me to put money out for this school.
You’d think that would have taught me a lesson about any ad that contains the word free in capital letters. But it didn’t.
I recently answered an ad in the Sunday newspaper magazine section. It was one of those two for the price of one come-ons. Buy one pair of these special diabetic socks and get another pair free. Well, that sounded like a good deal to me.
So I called. And I found out the second pair was free with only one small glitch. They charged you full price for shipping and handling on both pairs. Here’s how it worked. You paid $6.95 for the first pair of socks and $3.95 for shipping and handling. The second pair was technically free except for another $3.95 shipping and handling charge. After I caught my breath at the audacity of this scam, I sweetly inquired why they would need to charge another whole shipping and handling charge. For goodness sakes, we’re talking about two pair of socks. Put them both in an envelope at the same time and maybe, just maybe, you might have another 75 cents in extra postage for the second pair.
The gentleman taking my order got quite huffy at the idea that this offer was anything but on the up and up and suggested I simply didn’t understand the costs involved in big business deals. I guess I don’t.
Once your heart has been broken by the famous writer’s school, you learn to be just a little more cautious and cynical. You learn that mostly in life, anything that sounds too good to be free, is. And you learn not to wait around hoping that a famous writer will show up and lay the world at your feet. Darn!