a11 pr0ducts 4 ur h3alth and b3auty
Nov. 23rd, 2006 03:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabotabbySo, long story*, but I was at Pearson Airport for about five hours last night. I ended up talking with—no joke—a real-life internets spammer. Sorry, an e-commerce entrepreneur.
Realizing that I was going to be stuck there for awhile, I bought a copy of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. (It was that or Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, but I went with the former because the latter was shorter and more highbrow). I'd gotten about 70 pages in, and I was obviously pretty absorbed, but that didn't stop the eldery gentleman sitting next to me from striking up a conversation.
He asked me what I was I was reading. I told him.
"Thriller?" he asked.
"Fantasy," I replied, after some hesitation. Marketing categories being what they were, it was in with mainstream fiction.
"Do you like fantasy?" he asked.
"Sure," I replied.
"I like books about business," he said.
At this point, I started to wonder if he was a figment of my over-tired imagination, since who the hell likes books about business? My obvious disinterest in the subject, however (at least in comparison to Mr. Norrell's appearance in London high society) did not deter him from telling me how one could program one's mind in such a way as to become a millionaire. And, in fact, he had just read a book on the subject.
"Did it work?" I asked.
"Did what work?"
"The book. Are you a millionaire?"
"Not yet," he said.
He worked in e-commerce, selling "beauty and natural health supplements" over the internet. The guy at the top of the pyramid scheme made so much money that he didn't need to work and just watched the money roll in. No one else, he added, had quite achieved that level of success, but he was certain that the riches would be flowing forth soon.
I couldn't tell if he wanted me to join the pyramid scheme, or just buy his beauty products over the internet. He seemed to focus first on how I ought to be making more money, and then on how I could use natural skin products and makeup instead of Botox injections or plastic surgery. I told him that I thought that wrinkles were a perfectly fine thing to have and besides, they weren't exactly a concern at this point in my life.
Since at this point I was quite keen on getting back to my book, I pointed out that what one saves in time by buying shit over the internet, one loses in other ways. For example, I had no need to buy gas over the internet, seeing as I walked everywhere and didn't own a car. And buying cosmetics over the internet seemed quite counter-intuitive, given that it's much more convenient to try out different shades against your skin, rather than blindly guessing. Not to mention the fact that I already spent enough time in front of a computer screen without doing my shopping online, too.
Fortunately, his cell phone rang, and he buzzed off. But not before giving me his cards (which I now can't find, dammit), and leaving me with the distinct impression that I'd just been IRL spammed.
* Actually, not that long a story. It can be summarized as "flight delayed due to vomit."
Realizing that I was going to be stuck there for awhile, I bought a copy of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. (It was that or Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, but I went with the former because the latter was shorter and more highbrow). I'd gotten about 70 pages in, and I was obviously pretty absorbed, but that didn't stop the eldery gentleman sitting next to me from striking up a conversation.
He asked me what I was I was reading. I told him.
"Thriller?" he asked.
"Fantasy," I replied, after some hesitation. Marketing categories being what they were, it was in with mainstream fiction.
"Do you like fantasy?" he asked.
"Sure," I replied.
"I like books about business," he said.
At this point, I started to wonder if he was a figment of my over-tired imagination, since who the hell likes books about business? My obvious disinterest in the subject, however (at least in comparison to Mr. Norrell's appearance in London high society) did not deter him from telling me how one could program one's mind in such a way as to become a millionaire. And, in fact, he had just read a book on the subject.
"Did it work?" I asked.
"Did what work?"
"The book. Are you a millionaire?"
"Not yet," he said.
He worked in e-commerce, selling "beauty and natural health supplements" over the internet. The guy at the top of the pyramid scheme made so much money that he didn't need to work and just watched the money roll in. No one else, he added, had quite achieved that level of success, but he was certain that the riches would be flowing forth soon.
I couldn't tell if he wanted me to join the pyramid scheme, or just buy his beauty products over the internet. He seemed to focus first on how I ought to be making more money, and then on how I could use natural skin products and makeup instead of Botox injections or plastic surgery. I told him that I thought that wrinkles were a perfectly fine thing to have and besides, they weren't exactly a concern at this point in my life.
Since at this point I was quite keen on getting back to my book, I pointed out that what one saves in time by buying shit over the internet, one loses in other ways. For example, I had no need to buy gas over the internet, seeing as I walked everywhere and didn't own a car. And buying cosmetics over the internet seemed quite counter-intuitive, given that it's much more convenient to try out different shades against your skin, rather than blindly guessing. Not to mention the fact that I already spent enough time in front of a computer screen without doing my shopping online, too.
Fortunately, his cell phone rang, and he buzzed off. But not before giving me his cards (which I now can't find, dammit), and leaving me with the distinct impression that I'd just been IRL spammed.
* Actually, not that long a story. It can be summarized as "flight delayed due to vomit."
