The Ongoing Saga of YES!

This is weird, but I was driving home from my AM writing session at my local coffee shop when I saw a car driving erratically on my street. The connection was quickly made that it was the same one I usually see whenever the YES! pink poobag drops on my lawn twice a week. Now, remember: I already called the Idaho Statesman about cancelling my subscription to their direct delivery junkmail paper. I was told that I would be unsusbscribed. But I didn’t hold my breath. Good thing.

I watched as the erratic driver slowed in front of my house. A pink bomb was hurled from the car and the driver moved on to the next “customer”.

“Oh no, you dit-n’t,” I said as I nailed the throttle in hot pursuit of liberty and justice. I tracked my friendly neighborhood carrier down posthaste and politely informed her that I had unsubscribed last week from the product she had just delivered. She told me she’d had a family emergency and hadn’t updated her manifest yet. I said I was sorry for her loss, but again reminded her of my address and asked her for a discontinuance of the service. She thanked me for the reminder and then I drove off.

It was fortuitous that I just happened to be a block or two behind her when the coupons were delivered. I was able to defend my hearth and home against the unsolicited pink menace of the Statesman’s YES! scourge. We’ll see if I get the results I want. If I don’t, I’m open to suggestions from the peanut gallery as to how I ought to solve it—so long as they’re legal, natch.

Your Essential Shopper YES! and how to get rid of it

I’ve been receiving the YES! straight-to-the-trash “newspaper” for about half a year now. I never asked for it. I never, not once heard from the Idaho Statesman (a Gannett company) about whether or not I wanted it (they allege that a previous resident at my address gave them permission). But twice a week, it showed up any-damn-way, a pile of pink bagged garbage, a condomized collection of junk mail just sitting in my yard, daring me to defy it.

For a long time I just took it straight to the recycle bin (hey, evil conservatives with libertarian leanings can recycle, too). I would sometimes be outside and hear a thwack! sound and turn just in time to see the delivery person drive away with me trying to call out to them, “Hey! I don’t want that!” But to no avail.

I finally Googled the title of the supplement. What did I find out? Why, only that it’s a nationwide nuisance. There are people in places other than Boise that are just as befuddled as I am about this direct-to-your-door advertisement poopstorm. What’s funny is that, of course, you can find all kinds of links that point to how you can susbscribe to YES! and the blurb text gives me the impression that by God I ought to be excited about it! There are exclamation marks everywhere! There are words like dynamic and yippity zippity! Okay, maybe not that, but you get the idea.

Anyway, I finally found the number to call. It’s the Idaho Statesman subscription desk. It’s 208.377.6200, just FYI. And it’s public information, so I’m not breaking any rules in regard to disclosure. I’m just trying to save you the pop-up pain of navigating the Stateman’s Web site—clearly they’re desperate for revenue (maybe the majority of people are sick of reading “news” that’s really just the left’s opinion on how we’re supposed to think). If you call this number and tell them you don’t want YES! anymore, they’ll be happy to unsubscribe you. But if you tell them how outrageous their business practices are, they’ll transfer you to the supervisor. Now that’s service.

But wait, there’s more. Because there are other people out there across the fruited plain who have tried to unsubscribe from YES! as well. These people have spoken to the subscription departments of their local broadsheets and they’re still, guess what, getting a large pink turd dropped on their lawn twice a week. So be ready for a fight.

I told the Statesman that their direct delivery junk mail constituted a security risk to my family. No, really. Because what if I’m on vacation, okay? And what if the pink turd patrol continues to drop two bombs per week in my absence? Astute criminals will be able to deduce, a la Home Alone, that my house is ripe for the picking. And I ain’t having that.

I think it’s a commentary on where we’re at as a society when our newspapers can bully us into calling them for relief. Clearly, they’re desperate for a world that no longer exists; a world where they mattered. They’ve been reduced to schlepping used cars and appliances and blue light specials via ad supplements no one wants. I find it hilarious, in the end, and I rejoice in the demise of what has amounted to a powerhouse, for decades, of the American left (it’s also beautifully ironic that these socialists have to turn to capitalism to save them).

The Statesman’s harassment has been, perversely, at least a little instructive. I’ll keep you updated on whether or not they continue to shat on my lawn. Shades of the occupy movement? Oh, yes. I think so.