We are all familiar with “wonder
drug” commercials on television, which purport by vague promises to relieve
(but not to cure) various ailments, which are visually accompanied by a person
in distress or discomfort. But within seconds we see a happy person whose life
is now filled with joy due to the “wonder drug,” but this time accompanied by a
lengthy narration that warns of various “minor” side-effects, anything from diarrhea
to “death.” Is the manufacturer trying to ward-off potential customers, or
potential lawsuits—or are they actually trying to make money? Given the high
price of these “wonder drugs” and the desperation of their target groups, it is
of course the latter.
On the other hand, some companies
do everything they can to make you loath the day you purchased their product,
yet throw in everything including the kitchen sink to persuade you otherwise
when you want to leave. The “free” Internet provider Netzero is one such
company. NetZero became familiar to most Americans in the 1990s when the company
offered free, if limited, dial-up Internet access, paid for through online
advertising that subscribers were obliged to endure. But this did not
last long, as telephone-line access gave way to broadband and Wi-Fi, which cost
more. While the company continued to offer “free” service, it was more of a
worm dangling from a fishing line than anything truly useful, meant to lure
customers into a pay-to-play game.
Netzero still claims to be a
“value-priced” Internet provider, which is open to debate. In order to get “free”
service, you have to purchase a portable “hotspot” device for $129 or
more, after which “free” Internet access
is limited to 200 MBs, which sounds like a lot but only gets you a couple of
hours of normal web surfing a month, so it’s only really good for an occasional
email check. If it isn’t enough, then you have to pay for more data until you receive
your “free” 200 MBs the following month. I opted for the half-price hot-spot
model that looks “cheap” compared to the model shown on the television commercials,
for which I had to pay a minimum of $19.95 for 1 GB of data a month, plus a $3 “access”
charge. I was told that this was
sufficient for 40 hours of email service, or ten hours of “normal” web
surfacing.
Now, this may be a little hard to
wrap around your mind, but one measly gigabyte really is “measly” in today’s
Internet world. You can see this when you save a webpage when it tells you it
is downloading 1.5 megabytes, but winds up telling you the webpage is actually
only 200 KB when the download is complete. Well, where did the other 1.3 MBs
go? Likely hidden away in the “Temp” folder.
And those “hidden” items tend to pile up, even though you didn’t want
them in the first place. Quite often you unknowingly “save” video files
embedded on a webpage you browsed; the app VideoCacheView allows you view and
even play these files, and if you do a lot of web surfing, you’ll be surprised
at the amount of unwanted files you’ve scooped up. You can of course delete
these files, but by that time it is already too late; your gig has already been
used up.
Nevertheless, I think that for
$22.95, I should at least get my money’s worth. But to get enough GBs for “normal”
web surfing from NetZero, you have to pay $60 or more a month—and that isn’t “free”
or “cheap.” After what I consider very modest
web surfing over five hours during the first week of my August allotment, I was
informed that I had already used it all up; to add insult to injury, I was
informed that the price of future access would rise to $24.95 in September. I
decided that I was tired being ripped-off and resolved to cancel the service.
First I emailed billing support, and was told I had to cancel through my
account page. When I didn’t receive the email confirmation as I expected, and
the account was still listed as “active,” I sent another email demanding that
my cancellation be acknowledged. I was now told that cancellation of my service
could only be done via phone, and I was provided with a toll-free number.
I expected the process to be done
within a few minutes. I was wrong, of course; it was just another flaming hoop
I had to jump through. Someone with a vaguely South Asian accent greeted me,
and when I informed her of my decision to cancel the service, there was the “sorrow”
in seeing me go, but before I did…I tried to stop her from what I knew was
coming by insisting that I wasn’t interested in anything other than just
cancelling the damn service. What didn’t I like about it? It was a rip-off, I
said, now just please cancel the service. But the person at the other end
proceeded to drone on, apparently reading off a prepared script for the benefit
of a recalcitrant like me.
The first dangling lure was that
it will cost $20 to re-activate my hot-spot device. Actually, it sounded more
like a threat; thanks for making the break easier for me. Then it was the offer
of $14.95 for 500 MB. Sorry, that is even worse. Please just cancel the
service. I can offer you 200 MB of free service, she said; no, No, NO I
exclaimed. I just want this damned thing canceled! Then came the “trump” card: $3.95
a month for a “pay-as-you-go” plan. I admit that for a millisecond I paused on
that one, but then I remembered that pay-as-you-go Compuserve back in the 90s,
and I said No! Just cancel, please! Fortunately, the customer service agent had
nothing more to reveal, but first she had to call someone to “confirm” the
cancellation. Now what? I was put on hold for what seemed like hours, but I was
determined to see this through, and finally the agent returned and informed me that
my “wish” had been “granted.” Great. Thanks. Ker-plunk.
It was back to free Wi-Fi at the public
library or some fast food joint. Believe me, free in these cases actually means
what it says.
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