Fighting Gravity

This evening, I blew my lid. I was hiss-spitting pissed off mad. I hadn’t been this “yell profanities while wanting to smash the phone” mad, in a long time. Not since the last time I tried to rob Mother Nature from stripping things away from me while I aged. I got lured with the promise of having the elixir of youth.

My dad tried to teach me to be careful around Too Good to Be True things. I could have been a millionaire if he had only let me send money to that that stuffed an envelope and make a boat load of money business.

For the most part, I have kept a paranoid-distance from too good to be true gimmicks. When I was a Lane Community College student, I was called to say I had won a ticket to an event, the first thing I asked was if there was any catch. The guy giving me the ticket laughed at me.

I’ve kept my guard up, but my sense of aging opened up a few vulnerable spots, my achilles, and I got suckered in with a product that promised to take away crows feet and the other lines on my face.

It’s rather ironical that a person who has defied the advice of staying out of the sun or at least use sunscreen is ready to slather the stuff on. Is there something about prevention that I don’t quite understand.

The theme of this blog is all about prevention and on so many levels.

So, I impulsively bought this stuff that was supposed to provide miraculous results on my face. Maybe if I put the stuff on routinely rather than sporadically, I would have gotten better results, but that’s not the problem, or at least not the problem I’m writing about. The impulsive person who bought it on the internet saw free. The impulsive person who snagged it off of Facebook didn’t look at the fine print upon purchase, if there was such a thing.

I kept getting them; the cute little purple boxes were lining up in the bathroom as if I were ready to open my own franchise. I called to cancel. It took me a while to find the number as there was no phone number on the invoice. I was irritated, but at this point of the process, I had no idea how much these tiny little bottles were actually costing me. The invoice never gave the cost. No phone number. No cost. Sounds a little fishy.

After more research, I finally track the company down. I was spitting mad after I found out how much I was being robbed. Flat out picked. I was so mad, I was scaring myself. I was screaming. Livid wouldn’t begin to describe the madness that saturated every cell in my body.

The dogs hid.

The representative of the company was willing to give me a certain percentage of my purchase, but I wasn’t hearing any of that. At that point I had almost five thousand Facebook friends, and since I bought the product off of Facebook, I was going to use all the clout I had. If a person who represents a company that preys on the likes of me, takes advantage of those who aren’t really paying attention, they ought to be ashamed of themselves. The information should have been clearly given on the invoice.

I ranted at this guy in another country and threatened, and finally I must have passed the magic time, as if I were riding a bull, he told that I would get my money back.

Maybe if he hadn’t given me my money back, I would have learned the lesson.

Spring forward to today, November ninth. I have no voice. My body feels tired, especially my eyes. Temper tantrums really take it out of me.

October 22nd. I must have been feeling extra tired. Perhaps it was jet lag from my trip to Massachusetts since it had only been five days. It was late and I saw this Facebook advertisement for a supplement. Oprah’s name. Maybe Dr. Phil. I don’t remember, but the video threw out some names that said that this product was what caused Oprah to spring out of bed each day to do all the things she does.

Springing out of bed has never been my forte. If there’s any movement, it’s a snail’s pace. What caught my attention was the promise of having a clear mind. Five bucks for the trial. I couldn’t go wrong, especially since the stuff that I was trying was going to give me a better memory.

I did have the prior experience in the back of my mind when I made the order. This time I copied and pasted the fine print on Facebook:

“Placing an order you will be enrolled in our membership program. This program will charge $ 4.95 today and $ 84.71 for your trial full-size product on the 15​th day if you do not call to cancel the membership. You will receive a full-size bottle of the product for $ 84.71 (S&H included) every 30 days thereafter until you cancel. You can cancel or modify your membership anytime by calling +1-888-963-8460, Open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Product ships in 1-3 business days.”

When I saw the package on my chair, I just couldn’t believe it. Had it really been fifteen days. It was on my list of things to do. I’m at the irritated state of being.

I called the number listed and the woman from another country tells me that she has no record of me or my order or the product. She told me that others had called about this same product, but she was sorry that they didn’t distribute it.

The dogs have hidden by then, especially when there are two raving lunatics in the kitchen both cursing up a storm. I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t all go out for the evening. Hell had broken out in South Eugene.

Did I tell you that when I got my free trial, there was no phone number and no dollar amount of purchase on the invoice. Why didn’t the bells go off? I was too busy hugging on to the magic elixir shit that was going to help me think clearer and remember more. I did, after all, have to wait for the pills to take effect. Right?

One trial bottle didn’t have two weeks worth. I got ten pills and was supposed to take two a day. I’m not even a math teacher and I can figure out that those numbers don’t match.

I called my credit card to find out what I could do. The gentleman from my country was so helpful, though I had plenty of ammunition to get spitting nail angry; the cost of what I thought I was paying and what I was paying were also different. The company, which according to the credit card company was not Cogniyouth, but Neurofuse. They charged me twice on October 22nd. And for the latest batch of it could all be nothing stuff, they charged me $79.88 and $59.99. Not “just” the $84.71. When I am desperate, I see money on a different plane, especially when I never expected to pay the eighty-five bucks. I really, really thought I was going to cancel in time.

I had been warned. Friends who don’t let friends get scammed told me to not buy, but I had hit enter by that time. I just wanted that magic potion.

I ended up getting extremely angry at two different companies. The first was the company that fielded my call. I was irritated at the woman from another country when she said they had no record of my name. I was livid when she said that her company knew that another company was using their phone number. Maybe if the woman from not my country hadn’t told me that I must have misdialed the phone number when her number was 855 and I dialed an 888 number.

By the time I was given the correct number to call, I had used up much of my anger and had slipped into resignation that I once screwed up and threw away money I can’t really afford. At least I was talking to a person that had my record of purchase. I told him how mad I was about not being able to call and cancel. I admitted I had been in a rage and hopefully wouldn’t tear his head off. He laughed.

What he didn’t know was that when he said, “Well, let’s see what kind of refund, I mean, discount we can work.” While he’s giving me the pause to take up my time, I told him that he had the word correct the first time and I expected a full refund.

He had torn the wing off of a hornet, and I was spinning mad. Look you shit, and no I didn’t say that, you don’t give the right phone number. That’s fraud. You don’t charge the agreed upon terms. That’s fraud. Do you really want me to go to Better Business Bureau? Do you really want me to sick my plentitude of Facebook friends on your fraudulent business. Hopefully my plethora of Facebook Friends will become fiends if need be.

I have sent a letter to my credit company to make sure that this guy from another country will give me all of my money back.

If only I had learned easy lesson from my dad when I was ten years old. If the product that is being sold is as good as promised, nothing should be hidden and cancelling shouldn’t be so hard?

Does anyone know where I can take the pills to get tested. I’d love to know what is really in these capsules. Now I am feeling extra nervous. There’s probably nothing the FDA can do about the ingredients.

Maybe I can just chalk this up to not being able to think clearly.

2 Comments

  1. I hear ya! I’ve been suckered into stuff like this a few times and now try to steer clear of them. In that list of ingredients was “gelatin” and that was probably the best thing in there… gelatin is good for the joints, in fact, I’ve been meaning to make up a bowl of sugar-free Jell-O this week just for that reason!

  2. Been there done that. Is there s local newspapers or tv station with a consumer advocate you might try contacting them

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