“Excuse me, can I tell you about our…”
No, please, no.
Additional offers, communications, pitches, flash sales, in store deals, etc etc. Usually, if there is a marketing communication or an unsolicited sales communication, I opt out. Unsubscribing to things. Hitting decline on unknown calls, marking things as spam fills me with a warm catharsis.
For me to opt-in, there must be an extreme act of value and attention getting. And even then, rest assured I will feel regret 99.9% of the time and take pleasure in unsubscribing to your newsletter within two to three weeks.
Just today, while walking to my local bookshop, I saw solicitors pandering on the sidewalk near the entrance. I saw them from a distance and was at once filled with existential dread. They are, after all, just doing a job. And it might be for a noble cause. Perhaps they are collecting money for the poor, starving children, puppies, or poor, starving puppies who have lost their children. The cause is irrelevant. The dread stems from the fact that I do not want to engage, nor do I wish to be rude.
My bookshop has two entrances — the main entrance and the one farther down the lane, a side door to the coffee shop. I saw the solicitors and immediately crossed the street and opted to walk a long, pointless loop so that I didn’t have to speak with them.
I’m a big person, kind enough, and would not hesitate to put on a genuine face and regard them with full respect should I be forced to walk on by. I’m not intimidated, and I am not mean. I can act the part and often do. But given the choice … I would rather hop on a plane, go around the world, and come through the back entrance.
I both love the self-checkout and loathe the jobs that it has replaced. But if it means you don’t get to tell me about the fucking latest deal, then so be it. Fewer things make me want to scream more than the cheeky cashier, who, in trying to get me to opt-in to some shit, asks, “If I just don’t like saving money?” — which triggers very violent fantasies for me.
I do like saving money, but let me come to it on my own terms. And if I ask to stop you mid pitch, I’d like you to stop. Cause I gotta tell you “Chad,” I will pay 5 dollars more, voluntarily, every time, so that I don’t have to hear about the Target red card ever again. I will give away my ducats, my gold doubloons, to preemptively stop the extra communication.
Which brings me to the burning question, because I know I’m not alone. What ribbon colors are left? Can I wear a ribbon each day on my shirt that says, “not this guy, nope, don’t ask, just let him go about his business, he’s in the OPT-OUT ORG”. Because that’s what I want.
Maybe we get a sheriff’s badge with the face of a person closing their eyes, plugging their ears, while saying, “nyeah, nyeah, nyeah, I can’t hear you!” Cashiers, store managers, curbside solicitors, and the like nationwide would start to speak, and then you’d calmly point to the badge, at which point they’d say, “oh so sorry, I didn’t see that you were a part of the OOO,” and then sweet relief would wash over me as they kindly shut the fuck up.
Ironically, I am a marketer. So I have to employ the same tactics that I loathe at times. I’m not sure whether this helps or hurts. I think I’ve been successful because of my counterintuitive positioning. I’m allergic to fluff and wasted time. I hate when something doesn’t give me what I need quickly. And I hate being pandered to when I didn’t ask for it.
I used to be in operations. And I would go through painstaking lengths to try and solve a solution myself, by learning everything about the problem and the fix, before making the determination to reach out and, ew, have a meeting, with some sales person.
If the OPT-OUT ORG exists, know that I am willing to pay money for it. Though I have no idea how they would make themselves known to everyone as it would go against our core beliefs.