Category Archives: Technology

Why your Ebay vendor loathes Ebay

After writing about why Ebay vendors come to hate some of their customers, I realized that the vendors have many more reasons to hate Ebenezer (as I like to call it) than they ever could hate their customers. The customers, even some of the more annoying ones, represent revenue. Ebay represents only costs and pains: a sort of death of a thousand little inconveniences and surcharges, never improving for the vendor, always growing worse, and always masked in intellect-insulting peppy language about how great the change is.

Simple hint: the harder Ebenezer tries to convince the vendor that the change is for the vendor’s benefit, the more certain that vendor can be that the change works to the vendor’s detriment. That Ebenezer believes it can get people happy about actions that run counter to their own interests says a great deal about their low opinion of their vendors’ brainpower. It’s much like all the times other corporations send you something announcing: “We are again your best friends! To serve you better, we are raising costs, cutting support staff, adding extra pains to your ass, and removing any actual goodness you were getting from us! Aren’t you delighted?”

Just thrilled.

Here are some reasons your Ebay vendor might hate Ebenezer a little bit more every day. Note that this list is a snapshot in time. Next month, Ebenezer will have invented some fresh hells that we cannot yet quantify. We know only that it will be bad, and that it will come. But for now:

  • Ebenezer lets people win auctions, then blow off payment with no meaningful penalty. Yes. Ever want to ruin a vendor’s day? Start new account, win highly contested auction, don’t pay. The buyer is never forced to complete a purchase. Ebenezer thus effectively allows the buyer to act in the worst of faith. Their “Will Sell” subcategory should be titled “Might Sell, If The Buyer Actually Pays.”
  • Not only that; since Ebenezer won’t let you give negative feedback to a deadbeat or jerk buyer, your only feedback remedy is not to provide any feedback at all. There is no way to say “never give this purchase any feedback and clear it from my list.” It will sit therefore the full time allowed before your feedback option expires. And at the top of your dashboard, it will nag you that you still owe feedback for that one (and however many others).
  • Ebenezer now and then hands out enormous numbers of fee-free listings, then stops handing them out for a month at a time. You see, Ebenezer wants vendors to buy store subscriptions, which will guarantee them a certain number of fee-free listings. If a listing doesn’t sell, it goes into Unsold listings, where it will vanish in two months if not relisted sooner. Of course, while it’s not listed, it cannot sell. It’s playing financial chicken with you.
  • A recent Ebenezer fresh hell (“to help you sell more”) was changing all fixed price listings to “Good Till Canceled.” They now automatically renew each month (incurring a fresh listing fee), if not canceled first. If you have freebies, this relisting will chew those up; if you don’t have them and don’t want to incur the fees, you will have to end them all yourself before they would expire. No big deal if you have a new pile of freebies; very big deal if you have used up your monthly 50 and have 200 expiring. Oh, and the first time you attempt to end a batch of listings, half the time it makes you re-log in. You just checked one hundred boxes and hit End? Tough. Go check them all again and push the button again now that you’ve re-logged in. Thank you, Ebenezer, for “helping me to sell more” in this way. Don’t help me any more, okay?
  • Ebenezer provides no way to mass relist items at a specified time. To do them in mass, the only way is to send them live immediately. Problem with that? Yes, because sometimes you would like to stagger them in groups, schedule them for specific times. And you can. One. By. Fucking. One. Hope you don’t have two hundred to do! Oh, wait…I always do.
  • Ebenezer spazzes on your shipping location restrictions when you relist a GTC listing as auction, or an auction listing as GTC. In case you did not know, if the shipper doesn’t want to mess with shipping to certain types of addresses or countries, that is coded into a given listing (you could choose to ship this item abroad, for example, but not those). Except that once you change between listing types, you can no longer see this list of shipping exclusions. Is it still there? You will have to click on the link to go in and see. It usually is, but it’s a needless and annoying step.
  • Ebenezer has a very stupid volume discount function that was evidently so bad they commented it out for about a year while they tried to fix it. Now it might work as designed, but as designed, it’s dumb. The first discount percentage must apply to two of the same item. The second must apply to three. The fourth must apply to four or more. So there is no way to dispense with two and three, and offer a discount only for four or more. This is minimally useful and no one thought it through, which seem to be the primary qualifying traits for any new Ebenezer feature.
  • Ebenezer lets sellers pay an extra selling fee to promote listings. This is generally a good method for sellers, because there’s a fair chance people will discover your other stuff after viewing the promoted listing. However, since one is invited to name one’s ad percentage, in order to get premium placement one must offer a fee percentage that is sufficiently high to exceed the highest known past fees–typically 6-9%. If you want to screw Ebenezer, when you see a promoted listing and want to buy it, make a note of it and then log out, log in, and choose the search result for that item that does not indicate a promoted listing. You might have to dig through the vendor’s listings to achieve this. While it’s true the vendor will never know you did this for him/her, should a problem come up, the fact that you did so will get you all the favorable consideration you can find from him/her–plus, you have the fun of knowing you screwed Ebenezer.
  • Ebenezer’s descriptive field. Oh, gods, how I hate their descriptive field. What it really is: simple HTML that is normally hidden. There are codes present that you can not see unless you choose to show the HTML. So if you backspace to just the wrong spot, a bunch of formatting will disappear without being apparent. Copy and paste text from certain sources? No text at all will show, nor can be made to show. It looks WYSIWYG, but it isn’t. It sounds infuriating? Oh, it is. How it is. Did you accidentally, innocently use a # (octothorpe) in your listing, for example to begin a serial number or other identifier? The entire remainder of the text is hidden–and you have no idea why unless you happen to have some understanding of HTML, or you eventually come to notice that the octothorpe (no, that’s not a “hash tag”) is the problem child.
  • Ebenezer’s stores. A store subscription amounts to paying more money for a worse outcome in return for a certain number of guaranteed listings. (Their analysis and productivity tools don’t seem to do anyone any good.) How could it be worse? I’ll tell you. The standard freebie issue is fifty per month, either auction-style with Buy It Now or fixed-price Good Till Canceled. Buy the basic store for, what is it, $9/month? It says you get 100 free listings–and you do. Not 150; 100, so it’s just fifty extras. You find that out after you pony up for the first month. Oh, and your whole 100 now do not include Buy It Now on auction items, so those basic fifty are now worse than before! There’s Ebay, always looking out for you!
  • Ebenezer constantly tacks on new little fuckeries. In the time I have been doing this, I have seen them dink away at profit margins with little stuff like higher fees for books, can’t use freebies for this or that category, the previously mentioned store ripoff, and more. It’s always something.
  • Ebenezer purports to offer the vendor help with item listings by auto-filling from the Ebay catalogue. I wouldn’t let it. “Auto-fill” may create a listing full of bullshit. The smart vendor just refuses the help and describes it without intervention from Ebenezer, because you can take this to the bank: if the description contains one fiction, and the buyer points it out, the explanation of “It’s not my fault; Ebay’s catalogue was wrong” will cut zero ice. It’s the vendor’s obligation to describe the item accurately, and the less help from Ebenezer, the better.
  • Every little extra thing costs a little hit, the death of a thousand fees. Want to add a reserve price? Fee. Claim the item fits into more than one of Ebenezer’s remarkably inadequate categories? Fee. Larger photo in gallery? Fee. Every time you turn around, it seems, there’s a little fee. Don’t think they add up? Ebenezer does.
  • As a practical matter, it is impossible to sell on Ebenezer without a Paypal account. Paypal is horrible. It’s Ebenezer’s pet payment service, and if you don’t use it, I am reliably informed that you become a preferred fraud/scam target. It’s like a shotgun wedding to a horrible spouse.
  • Ebenezer has a terrible help system. Try to use the one that’s easy to find, on the right side of the screen? That doesn’t go to anything but a list of FAQs. You have to scroll all the way down, and when you do start digging, half the time the help you find answers only questions you did not have. Last month, I actually used Ebenezer’s help to find a semi-answer as to how to do something. Once the disbelief wore off, I felt like celebrating.
  • One of the many worthwhile concepts Ebenezer has botched is Customer Questions. If the customer chooses to Ask the Seller about an item, the seller gets a message. What’s wrong with that? Sometimes you cannot clear the stupid things. There is some metric that measures your response and clears the flag, but if that is missed or somehow fails to function, and the Mark as Answered doesn’t work, the question still shows in need of a response, glowing in all its irrelevancy.
  • Ebenezer wants you to buy postage from them. On the plus side, it’s cheaper than at USPS. Problem: you’d better know your postal regulations very well. I suppose it’s great if everything you sell complies with a certain form factor or two, but for variable stuff…well, there’s a good chance your shipments will get delivered postage due. In any case, my complaint isn’t that Ebenezer offers postage. My complaint is that their process does its very best to nag you into buying theirs. By itself, it would mean little. Taken as part of the whole, it’s just one of the ten thousand cuts. If I wanted to buy the postage from them, I would do it without being pushed.
  • Another Ebenezer pushiness, far more toxic, is always in the directions of new interfaces that make everything much harder. It’s much as if there’s some buyer-hating sadist constantly tinkering with the system. Now, I’m not automatically resistant to change. Some changes are all right. But the mantra of “change is good; embrace the change” is for morons. The growth of a malignant tumor is change: is it good? Change is morally and qualitatively neutral on its face. Whether it is good depends whether it helps more or hurts more. Ebenezer’s changes tend to be badly thought out by a PHB somewhere, and more often hurt than help.
  • When someone stiffs you on Ebenezer (and they will, and Ebenezer will do nothing useful about it), the amount due shows up for two full months even when you’ve reported it as uncollectible and gotten your fees back. Yes. Even when they couldn’t pay you if they wanted to, it shows you are owed the money.
  • Now and then, when you are going through and relisting a hundred or so items one by one (because Ebenezer won’t let you select a time to relist them all at once), you find that one of your listings is now missing its photos. Since Ebenezer requires photos, that one won’t go. Hope you kept copies!
  • Ebenezer interprets trade embargos literally and eternally. Got a Persian artifact from the Sassanid era (before Ayatollahs, Islam, or even the modern boundaries of Iran)? Can’t list that; it’s Iranian! They will take it down and send you a warning. Ever think of selling an aboriginal artifact from Cuba? Gods, don’t use that word, or down it will come–never mind that it has zero connection to trafficking with the modern Cuban state. It could have been in this country for generations before Castro; they don’t care. That’s what happens when you deal with simpleminded idiots.

If there were a less odious alternative, I’d definitely consider it.

 

Why your Ebay vendor loathes you

Our society goes on and on about the customer always being right, the customer being king/queen/quing/whatever. I have heard it all my life.

It was stupid to begin with and it has gotten stupider.

The customer is not always right, and never has been. The customer is right to the extent that we can arrange him or her to be without giving away the store or rewarding/encouraging horrible behavior. The customer is not king/queen/quing/padishah/nawab/sultan/etc., is not even nobility, and needs to get over him/her/it/theirself. After a couple years of selling stuff on Ebenezer, as well as some dumbass buying mistakes of my own, I think I’m ready to present a list of common errors that many buyers make.

Wait, who says it’s an error? Why should the buyer care, if the buyer is in fact royalty and always correct? Because the seller doesn’t have to sell to you and doesn’t have to give you special treatment. If you want special treatment, you need to eliminate the aspects of your behavior that cause the vendor to wish you plagues of flamethrowing cockroaches. Such as:

  • You can’t master the concept of the shopping cart and invoice request, so you just pay individually for five fixed-price items, but you still want shipping combined. And you think you should now get a discount. Why not? You’re the monarch! Dut-dudda-ding!
  • Closely connected: you win multiple auction items at once, pay immediately for each in sequence, then want your shipping combined. You don’t have the intellect or savvy to wait and request a combined invoice. Nice going, Exalted One.
  • You can’t understand (or don’t care) that Ebenezer charges your seller a fee, typically 10% of more, on both shipping and merchandise. You see on your parcel that stamps totaled $2.75 and you were charged $2.95 (of which the vendor actually got to keep $2.66)? Alert the BBB! Ripoff report! Lèse majesté!
  • You can’t understand that the materials your shipper uses were not free. What, you mean bubble mailers costs 20-30 cents? Not Your Majesty’s problem!
  • You bid up to the last minute, win, then dick around for two days before paying. Who cares about doing the businesslike thing and just paying up? You’ve got 48 damned hours, and you’re damn well going to use 47 of them! There’s important interest to be earned in two days on $3.95!
  • You not only don’t pay on time; before paying, you let elapse 90 of the 96 hours Ebenezer allows to redeem an unpaid item claim. Aren’t you cute? Ha-ha, you got four more days’ worth of interest on your $3.95! Baller! Your vendor truly hates you. Your vendor should block you. In fact, your vendor should have blocked you the instant after filing the unpaid item claim.
  • You don’t even pay after all six days have elapsed. You just decided screw it, you didn’t really want it. Unfortunately, Ebenezer won’t simply take the money out of your account and bill you for it, because Ebenezer does little to protect sellers. That’s why the sellers hate Ebenezer as much as they hate deadbeats.
  • You don’t pay at all for five days, then send a message explaining that you are doing this so you can buy more stuff and make a big combined payment to get some benefit from Praypal. Had you asked for such consideration beforehand, your vendor would probably have said “no problem.” But you didn’t. Why should Your Majesty care about the villains, knaves, oaves, and other help? Your Majesty’s time is accountable to no one, least of all the servant class. Hmph.
  • You make insulting offers. $100 or best offer? You throw out a $25 trial balloon. Why shouldn’t you? What’s the worst they can do, say “no”? That whole attitude–“It never hurts to ask, the worst they can say is ‘no'”–is part of what is wrong with business. It dignifies, even glorifies the insulting question, the lowball.
  • You fail to read the listing, then blame your vendor for what you should have learned and did not. If it says there are no returns, and you ask for a return, best be polite and unentitled. If the condition is clearly/accurately described, and you complain about it and want a refund, you are why your vendor hates doing this.
  • You think “free shipping” is a good thing, a benefit, obligatory for all vendors, and that those who don’t offer it are cheap, greedy bastards. You’re not only wrong, you are not doing too well in the numeracy department. Free shipping is a massive ripoff. If you buy just one item at a time, it’s a wash; the more business you do at once, the more screwed you are. Viewed another way, the better the customer, the worse a hosing is his/her/their/its reward. If that’s you, cut up your credit cards, because those scum beings saw you coming miles away.
  • You confuse feedback on the item’s suitability with feedback on the vendor’s service. Who cares if it’s not the vendor’s fault that the shaving razors didn’t last long enough? It’s not like you’re harming a real person’s business.
  • You don’t bother with the feedback racket, even when the vendor does everything right. Why should Your Holiness care? It’s a vendor: a peon, a peasant, a worm.

I’m not saying that the typical Ebenezer vendor is some sainted, courteous being. In fact, many do a truly suck job and deserve to be treated in all the above ways. I’ve even got a blacklist of vendors to make sure I never use again (since stupid Ebenezer won’t let buyers block a vendor). But I suspect I understand why some of them go bad, and I think some of it’s misvented frustration.

As an Ebenezer seller, you spend much avoidable time fighting with Ebenezer’s remarkably bad interface. I am convinced that Ebenezer has a Sucky Interface Creation Commission (SICC) that stays up late and works weekends just to find new ways to make the listing experience worse. They’re evil. They’re awful. They’re capricious. They’re downright stupid. If you’re a buyer and not a seller, count some blessings. It’s not right, sensible, or fair for a seller to take loathing of Ebenezer out on buyers–but I believe some do. Especially since there are enough truly deserving buyers to fan the flames.

And if you’re a buyer and not a seller, now you know some of the most irritating things some buyers do. Maybe you have done some of them. About half your vendors are so jaded they won’t give two damns how you treat them. They have experienced so much of the above listing irritation and customer abuse that they no longer care; they just churn it through. The other half, however, will go out of its way for you if it gets a little consideration.

  • I have successfully returned non-returnable merchandise. (They are so unused to the words “please; I made a mistake” that the phrase takes them aback.)
  • I have been given merchandise free of charge without asking for it. (In fact, it was offered and I tried to decline.)
  • I have been given discounts I didn’t request. (And all it took was a little empathy.)
  • I have had faulty merchandise replaced immediately. (Without being asked to send back the other.)

Those things don’t happen when you behave as an entitled schlong toward your vendor.

It’s partly your business world. It will, in part, take the shape you impose upon it. Think of yourself as sculpting.

If you sculpt it like a turd, well, that’s up to you.

Thrift vs. miserliness

What’s your craziest cheapskateness?

Lots of us are cheap, or thrifty, or abhor waste, or in some other way do our best to avoid discarding anything we or someone else could use. Some of us were raised by Depression kids, with a portion of that translating to us. Some people live in very frugal circumstances and can’t afford to waste any single solitary thing of value.

Some do this out of need; some out of fear; some because it’s fun. Few apply this to everything. Take time, for example. Time is a resource, arguably our most precious one. It could be used to accomplish something, even if that might be rest or play. How many people, having options, waste time on a regular basis? Of course, that depends on the definition of waste. In some circles, any energy or time not spent to further ultimate corporate profit is automatically considered wasteful, just as any education that does not directly lead to employability is considered useless. Some people think a server tip is wasted money because it is not technically obligatory.

And sometimes we have a savings instinct and we know it’s stupid. Maybe we just give in to it; maybe we fight it because we realize that’s going too far, even for ourselves.

What I’m going to ask you is two questions:

  1. What is a form of useful thrift you practice that you think few would resort to?
  2. What is a form of foolish or pointless thrift you either practice, or realize you should not and resist the tendency?

I’ll go first.

In order to avoid purchasing my own for things I sell online, I save a good percentage of the packing I receive. Not all, but a fair variety to accommodate varied needs.

Every time I find myself backspacing over single characters to retype a missing letter, rather than arrowing to the spot and just inserting it, I have this little wastefulness warning that goes off. It’s idiotic. Not only has a typed character zero intrinsic value, I backspace and retype because it’s faster and doesn’t require me to shift to the mouse or arrow pad. Even then my brain nags me that I am just throwing things away like a wasteful dunce.

Yet it doesn’t when I am editing, or when I am throwing away a whole sentence or paragraph I deem pointless. I can, without conscience, delete a whole article from this blog if I consider it past its prime. For heaven’s sake, I deleted or hid my entire personal Faceplant timeline. I deleted ten years of life story. It took over a year. I felt no sense of waste.

Please feel free to share yours. No judgment from me.

P3: Punishing porch pirates

By now most of you have heard of the new suburban crime: porch piracy. You order stuff from Blue Nile, or Yangtze, or Congo, or Amazon, wherever. In some cases, a postal worker delivers it; in others, a UPSS driver. In others, it’s an obvious meth-head. Either way, they may or may not ring the doorbell before they throw it into the exact spot that will keep you from opening your screen door to retrieve it.

And some amateur porch pirate, following the delivery vehicle around town, pulls up, leaps out, darts up to your porch, steals your parcel, runs back to his/her car, and drives off.

The police aren’t doing much about this. I understand. This doesn’t raise revenue, so it’s not important to them. However, the police will definitely prevent us from doing anything really decisive about this. For example, I’m pretty sure anyone who fills the porch pirate’s ass with 12-gauge rock salt will face much stiffer penalties than will the porch pirate. This falls into line with my view that the basic purpose of policing is to maintain social control while shielding bad people from real consequences. This view is controversial, and is rooted in my personal experiences. I don’t expect other people to agree with it.

But I bet even those who think I just wrote the most horrible thing still don’t themselves much like porch pirates.

Since we can’t really punish them (and this is me going on firm record as strongly advocating that we not really punish them in any illegal way), we’re going to have to get creative.

Do in such a way: wait until your next sizable parcel from a vendor who uses clear plastic packing tape and normal brown cardboard boxes. Turn it over (so that you do not damage the shipping label, which is usually right across the box closure), take a box cutter, and gently slit the tape holding the box bottom together. Take out whatever you ordered.

If you happen to make/receive regular trips to/from Somewhere Else whose resident also wants to punish porch pirates, you can gain added security. Get them to do the same with their boxes, and when you meet up, swap. The porch pirates aren’t going to stare intensely at the label or match it to the target address before they leave; the savviest might merely glance to make sure the label doesn’t show signs of the re-closure you plan to do. When they get home and start opening Santa’s haul, if the one containing the goodness has an address in Bug Tussle (and you do not actually live in Bug Tussle), they will think it was grossly misdelivered or something and open it anyway. They probably won’t remember where they got that one.

Okay, let’s get on with the fun.

Do you have cats? If you do, great! If you do not, you probably know someone who does. He or she probably talks about them more than you would like, but now comes your reward for enduring it with sainted patience. Pick the person you know that has the most cats, and ask if they have any heavily used litter box contents they could part with. Most people who own litter box contents are generous in spirit and will gladly part with clumps of cat-urine-caked litter and cat turds, especially in a good cause. There are people who hoard cats, but few who voluntarily hoard cat excretions–and that’s golden for your purposes.

You should also get some glitter, preferably a pound or two, and some powdered sugar. Another great tool for this purpose, to anoint what I will call the Goodness, is a Vietnamese anchovy sauce called nuoc-mam (nook-MOM). I put it on my Thai food. It’s very salty and smells very fishy. Do not ever, ever, ever, not even to your worst enemy, squirt this stuff into the heater vents of anyone’s vehicle.

If you grocery shop, you probably have a small collection of flimsy, crappy plastic bags, the absolute cheapest things the store could buy in bulk that stand half a chance of getting your groceries to your car. Now, because you care about climate change and the environment, you are going to do the ecologically friendly thing and repurpose two of the bags while disposing of them in an appropriate way. You are so green. Double the bags and fill them up with as much goodness as you can arrange: cat sanitation disappointments, powdered sugar, any condiments you may care to add, and glitter. Don’t tie up the top.

Now lay the bag on its side and reclose the box bottom around it, without spilling any of the goodness (for safety’s sake, do this outside, especially if you are butterfingered). Re-cover the bottom tape seams with fresh clear packing tape, taking care not to tilt the box. It may help to have an assistant, if you know anyone else who hates porch piracy. Do as good a job as you can at making the tape look professional.

Put it out on your porch and be patient. Sometimes porch pirates rush up and leave behind an empty box, to keep watchers from getting suspicious. Either way, as they walk away, they are almost guaranteed to spill the goodness. When they open it, with luck, it will spill all over their vehicle. Or, if they wait until they get home to open their haul, on the floor. Maybe on the dining room table.

Wherever they spill it will likely never be the same.

And the beauty of this is that you haven’t mailed anything illegal because you haven’t mailed anything to anyone. You put a box on your front porch, one that no one has the right to inspect or abscond with. One great mistake people make in life is answering nosy questions just to “be nice.” Why did you put it there? That’s none of anyone’s business, and they can go to hell for asking. Other people pile tons of stuff on their property and no one asks stupid questions about it, unless it’s the Homeowners’ Stasi.

You can put any legal substance you desire into a box that sits on your own property. Cat urine clumps are illegal to mail, but not to put into outdoor storage on private property in manageable quantities. You have deterred a porch pirate in the only useful way that is safe from the law: by leaving them something not terribly pleasant to steal.

Anyone seeking to report you for this, presumably for being a Big Meany to Poor Downtrodden Criminals, would also have to admit to having stolen the package. While the police would protect them from more direct retaliation by you, I’m pretty sure that if the porch pirates filed a complaint, the police would be laughing almost too hard to arrest them.

Since what they stole had low value, of course, it’s unlikely they would or will get in any trouble. But it is likely they’ll have a bad day and question their choice of careers.

If that’s all the compensation you can get, might as well get it.

A childhood tale: the weirdness of memory

Until I left high school and youth behind, the last happy years of my life were the early elementary school years in Hutchinson, Kansas. (McCandless Elementary School and East 14th Street, represent.) Now, Hutch was at that time known for three things: the Carey salt mines, the state fairgrounds, and either the world’s largest grain elevator or a fair contender for the title. My buddy Hoby’s dad worked at one, and he went to all the trouble to take my parachute-equipped G.I. Joe to the top and drop it off so it could float down to us.

Mr. White, you were a good soul.

One cool aspect of Hutch, for a lad excited about astronomy, was the planetarium. It was a small round building with a sort of domed ceiling, and one lay on the carpet to watch the ceiling projection show. Outside the building on clear nights, volunteers with telescopes would show us the Galilean moons and such. It was fun. I would eventually receive my own telescope, which would provide me many escapist hours in my later youth, and would finally in my fifties part with it. A school needed it more than did I.

About thirty years passed. I grew to adulthood, finished college, started to grow up for real, got jobs, got laid off, got engaged, broke off engagement, met future wife, moved in together. I decided to drive back home for a visit. I wanted to see family, reconnect with my childhood buddy Jeff and the elementary school teachers who had done me so much good, and most of all, have one last fully lucid visit with my ailing grandfather. The latter didn’t go so well, sadly, though it paid a dividend in that my relatives were angry on my behalf, with him, over the way he had spoken to me. I had no experience with that. I am still processing it.

But that happened after I met back up with Jeff. A great kid, he had grown into a great adult guy. We took our now-fairly-elderly teachers to dinner in Jeff’s family transport pod, and we had a wonderful time. They critiqued my penmanship with mock sternness. So odd it felt, these frail older ladies over whom I now towered, who had once held benign power over my joy or misery. It was so good to be able to let them know what good they had wrought.

The day after that dinner, Jeff took me to the Cosmosphere. The old planetarium, it seemed, had grown into a full-fledged aerospace museum. All right, sounds fine, let’s see what’s new there.

As an old Epinions crony of mine used to say, jeezum crow. In addition to the rocket standing outside, the SR-71 Blackbird on struts just inside the front door let me know that this was not my childhood planetarium, which seemingly had been dozed to make way for this huge modern museum. It had the Apollo 13, with burn pitting still visible. Soviet cosmonaut suits. A V-1. A Me-163 Komet engine. A restored V-2. It had more than you could imagine, including a brand new planetarium with reclining theater seats. Artifacts. Science exhibits.

Jeff suggested we see the rocketry demonstration, called Dr. Goddard’s Laboratory. It was in an insignificant little side room near the main entry hall. A young man used liquefied gases to demonstrate rocketry on a small scale. Kids wowed; we enjoyed. But while we enjoyed, I also had a very creepy, weird, ghostly feeling. I’m not very sensitive to that sort of thing. Something was strange, something I ought to know but could not place.

I looked about the room. It was round.

I looked at the ceiling. It was gently domed.

It was the old planetarium. It hadn’t been dozed. They had built the museum around it, and now used it for science demos.

I had been here, three decades before. I had lain on this carpet, or at least on whatever had covered this floor.

 

Some corner of the mind is eidetic, I think; the problem is that the mental library’s card cataloging and shelving system falls to hell. But it’s still in there, waiting to be jogged.

Campaigny McCampaignface

It is not well known that I have a little sideline selling stuff, on Ebay as well as on retail consignment. In the consignments, which I market in retail establishments, the worst thing that ever happens is that the retail venue hires a cretin who does not grasp that I need to get my tags back. Those enable me to see what sold, determine whether I am making reasonable profit, and (if need be) tell the IRS what I did sell. I can live with the occasional cretinous moment.

That frustration is nothing compared to Ebay, which I have taken to calling “Ebenezer.” Don’t most of us normally assume that major changes to policies and technology that are used by millions of people happen only after various committees and managers review them, think through the potential outcomes, and schedule implementation? Don’t we assume that, on some level, these people are smarter than most of us?

I don’t. I think it’s possible that they really aren’t too bright. My experience-based belief is that the technical changes at Ebenezer are directed by a pointy-haired boss who parlayed a gentleman’s C- at a low-rated business school into a six-figure income managing Ebenezer’s “vendor experience.” I don’t think this PHB answers to anyone, ever. I think he just gets whims in his head, sends his code monkeys* a memo, expects them to work 100-hour weeks implementing his directives, then starts to cook up another memo.

In the year I’ve been doing us, the list of Ebenezer’s f-bomberies is long and monthly. Every month, every single month, it’s some fresh hell. I can live with the fact that it’s always pitched as though it’s to our advantage, when in fact it’s the opposite, because I expect that of all corporations. The key phrase is “to serve you better, we are…” That’s b-speak for “because we can screw you, we are…” What are most irritating are the petty stupidities, and those are what convince me there is no oversight here, no management. I think it’s just some PHB with a Word memo template and a deficient intellect.

Here’s an example. When you sell stuff on Ebenezer for a fixed price, there are a couple of ways you can push it. You can set up to entertain offers, and you can set auto-accept or auto-reject amounts (or choose to listen to any offer at all, which I think is smarter, because you can then counter with something rational). You can also use promoted listings. In these, you agree to pay Ebenezer an extra fee if the item sells because they shoved it in someone’s face. This, in my experience, gets rid of more stuff than does considering offers.

Now, sometime in the past, the PHB determined that it would be nice if sellers could name and track promotional campaigns. That seems reasonable, doesn’t it? What’s to complain about? It even defaulted to creating a campaign named (in my case) something like “US Campaign [date]”. Sounded so official, so markety, so businessy. It made me want to ramp up my solutioning of problems, my verbing of nouns, and my total quality management to get to the client delight level. Okay, whatever. I accepted the default name, and thereafter that was the default campaign for promoted listings. About three months later on, it decided to start a new one for me, similar rubric. Okay, fine, don’t see how this is going to hurt me.

This meant that when I was relisting, say, a hundred items, I didn’t have to make a choice on that dropdown box unless I had some reason to assign a given promotion to a given campaign. Lacking such reason, I plowed through, accepting the default. Until one day the default changed without notice.

No longer was the default campaign an existing campaign. Now the default was to begin a new campaign. If I didn’t make a dropdown choice, every single item I chose to have promoted would be assigned its own new, special, unique campaign. I would eventually run up against some limit of total campaign listings.

Now, because a PHB (in my supposition, which I admit is based mostly on outcomes and plausible explanation based on having worked for a number of PHBs) told a code monkey to change something–or, perhaps, simply failed to review a code monkey’s work–all of a sudden there was an extra step necessary. Just one more step, where there wasn’t one before. I only created three new campaigns by mistake before I realized what was happening.

I also learned that I couldn’t just reassign existing listings to a given campaign, the better to clean up the mess. The choices were greyed out. I could delete a campaign, but that would remove the promotion from any listings currently live that were using that campaign. A feature that was nothing to me, transformed into an unannounced pain in the rectum: that’s Ebenezer and its vendor experience PHB.

So I got annoyed. When I get annoyed with a corporation, which is not infrequent, I find a creative way to mock it. Even if I am the only one who gets a laugh, that’s the candle I light rather than cursing the darkness. More accurately, I light it while cussing the darkness pretty hard; fair enough. But I do light it.

I needed a campaign name that would sort to the top of the list, that I would recognize, and that would reflect my opinion of the PHB and his (in my experience, men are more likely to be PHBs) vendor experience management.

Campaigny McCampaignface was born.

Now, at least, I get a laugh every time I relist an item and choose to have Ebenezer ram it in people’s faces promote it.

 

*I get the term “code monkey” from one of my cousins, who posted a video long ago to explain what his work was like. It is not meant to disparage those who write code, but to highlight how management uses those coders’ skill sets.

What happens when you set up a Facebook page

On the wise guidance of a friend and marketing advisor, I set up a Facebook page for the editorial business. I had no idea what would occur; much did. I decided that the readership might find it interesting and entertaining.

In the process, I was required to give a street address. (Phone number was optional.) Despite choosing to keep that address private–I don’t have a physical location except for my home office–I had to go in again and make it private. Even now, I am not quite sure that FB will honor this.

It wanted a photo and a cover photo. That didn’t seem unreasonable.

FB then encouraged me to spam all my friends with requests to like the page. Having seen enough such spams in the past from friends promoting their own pages or those of their associates, I decided that my friends wouldn’t get mad at me about it. For the most part, I was right. One person whom I barely knew unfriended me, which was all right.

FB’s first attempts to sell me advertising came within an hour of creation. No joke. I suppose I may safely assume that this will be a regular occurrence.

FB tried to get me to make a post thanking all the new likers. I tried to do this three times; it never completed its process any of those times. I made my own post, which worked fine. Thanking everyone seemed very reasonable. It was pleasant to see the comments and even one recommendation, from Shawn Inmon, himself one of the most capable storytellers going–if you are not familiar with his fiction, by all means use that link. Some of his best work is non-fiction, but fiction is mainly what he does nowadays, and he does it well.

One thing I can’t seem to hide is FB’s posts encouraging me to send more spam, including to my friends. It seems not to know or care that I have already done just that. I do not think very many people would appreciate another spamming.

It tells me I have ten notifications and ten inbox posts. When I check the inbox, I have none. Notifications five, all of which already viewed and addressed, but I still have to tell the notifications that I consider myself notificated. As with normal notifications, I’ll go out on a limb here and suspect that FB doesn’t really take “okay I heard you” as the final answer.

It feels somewhat as if I have just set off the whole fireworks display at once, with notifications and such coming thick and fast. Besides the nervous feeling of not yet having full control over it all, most of it is positive. I’ll know more when the smoke clears away and I police up all the used sparklers, empty Roman candles, firecracker papers, and little mortar boxes.

Day two: page nagged me to list myself as part of the ‘team.’ I guess the idea was it would ‘build my brand.’ Being an old Kansas boy, I think of branding irons and the Rawhide theme. It also continued to rag on me to set up automated ads. These people really, really, really want some money. They want me to set up a group for the page (wonder why?). There’s a nag at the top to ‘add a button.’ Really? Button to do what? I’m afraid to push it lest it trigger a bunch of other crap. At the moment I have more than adequate FB crap to sort out.

This is a bit overwhelming. Do this, buy this, set this up, give us this, add this, blah, blah, blah. I don’t know about adding anything until I’m sure what it does. I guess this is the personality difference between reckless abandon and cautious advancement, and I’m more the latter based on all the goat rodeos in life I have seen ensue from those who just swallow and hang on. Plus, I’m obstinate. The more I feel pushed, the more I resist. The less I trust the originator (FB, insurance company, bank, car dealer), the more I resist. Here I feel pushed by a deeply distrusted source, so the default answer is No.

It is still carping at me to invite all my friends to Like the page. It seems amnesiac. I invited all my friends to Like the page as my first action after setting it up. (An amazing percentage did so. I heart you folks.) Is this all an exercise in laughing at algorithms? All, no; somewhat, yes. I’m a strange person. I reserve the right to take any indiscriminate mass broadcast as though the company CEO singled me out and said it personally. This means I hate a lot of corporations. This, I find, is my comfort zone. I am most creeped out when I find myself liking a corporation. Faceplant has little chance of ever creeping me out in that way.

Day three: more notifications and inbox red markers that, when investigated, mean nothing. Another nag to ‘boost’ my posts by buying advertising. I sense trends. It also admonished me to set up business hours, which isn’t illogical, though it is inapplicable in my case.

Day four: supposedly I have four ‘inbox’ items. I can’t believe any of these red markers. I am nagged to pressure my friends to like the page. There are some interesting statistics: I can see my total likes and follows; I can see the identities of the first but not the seconds. Right now they differ by one numerically (no, I don’t care who does which or what, except to thank all who did either; no one is obligated to like or follow a Facebook page).

It’s about time to check out page settings. I want people to have freedom to post. The default setting should always be liberty rather than restriction, after all; restriction is only for when complete liberty results in some problem. Going into settings, the first thing I find is that I have not Verified that this is my real business page. I can either scan and send them a document, or have them call me with a code. I have them call me with a code. I follow the process, but it does not work and I am told I am unverified. Okay, screw verification.

People can post without restriction, so that is good. Interesting: I can filter a given word, or engage a profanity filter. Multiple language posts are turned off; that’s no good. I have a higher than average likelihood, for an American, of someone actually posting in a foreign language, and I like it. Enabled! Except that it’s not. Or it is. It says it is not, but when I try to do fix it again, it won’t let me change it. These people are lousy at software. I’ll have to post something in a foreign language and see if it ralphs.

While I was doing that, we had another stupid ‘like’ nag. Bruce, one of my oldest friends (since I was about twelve), liked a photo. That caused FB to nag me to invite him to like the page. Cretins. Do they not suppose that he probably already does? Would Bruce love a nice little nag to do something he has surely already done? No, Bruce probably would not. Insight: if you obeyed every nag from FB, you’d hose down your business in short order. Friends will help you out, but not to the point of making their lives worse. I have one friend who has gone way overboard with this, and I definitely don’t want to be That Guy.

At the same time, many pages do nothing. I also don’t want to be That Other Guy. I should begin a procedure of attempting to post one funny, uplifting, or enjoyable thing per day. Just one. No one will unfollow me over one thing per day, one presumes, provided it is not political or negative. So I posted a music video.

Within a few hours, Zuckbook was asking $30 to ‘boost’ my post.

Day five: International Women’s Day, so I post a story. FB nags me to add a donation button. It obviously hasn’t been too early in this relationship for Zuckbook to start asking me for money, but I think five days in is too soon for me to launch a beg-a-thon. Nope.

Maybe I should describe the weird, somewhat clunky control panel one gets in order to check on the red boxes for Inbox and Notifications. I can’t tell why something would be in one and not the other, nor why. The Inbox has a nuclear symbol for automated messages (maybe it was programmed by someone laid off from Hanford), and purports to show you Messenger, comments, FB (why you would need an icon to take you to FB from FB is beyond me), and Instagram (not happening, I don’t own an Instagraph and can’t send any of them). The Notifications looks like a bigger version of the dropdown you get from the little icons at top right of FB. It’s where FB nags you to invite people to like your page, which same people you know already like it. They might like it a lot less if every interaction with it gets them a fresh trip to nag hell.

If you did everything this mechanism rags on you about, you would be broke shouting into a virtual void, because you would alienate even the people who like you independent of Zuckbook, and spend all your money buying ads from Zuck–seen by no one, because you would have driven away the audience.

Oh, and I have hit 200 likes. It nags me to create a post thanking people. My view: best way to thank them is not crap up their news feeds with stupid posts of that sort, and instead focus on posting something fun or educational or topical. For example, something for International Women’s Day. Another ad sales nag as well; this one offering me a free credit. What do you bet I wouldn’t have gotten one of those had I just plunged headlong and started buying ads? Sorry, but I don’t want to create more FB ads even if Zuck gives them to me free.

Day six: it’s time for the daily advertising sales nag! One senses that I had better get used to these. The clickable spots are positioned close to where one would normally hit X to close an unwanted dialog box. Surely this is accidental. Surely.

Day seven. Yesterday, I set my mail checker to mark anything from FB’s ad sales as spam. Since they show signs of planning to do this daily nag for an open-ended period, this will make them easier to ignore. That’s the best I can do, since the notion of getting them to cease sending this spam is problematic.

One thing I have found is that when I post a link to a blog post, and it gets shared, I get a spike in reads. I am grateful to those who do this. It’s the only way that the reach from such a page is likely to increase without drinking the FB ad cool-aid.

Day nine: now the page presents me with a banner called Page Education. It suggests that I learn ‘easy tactics’ to grow the page’s popularity, such as re-spamming my friends–all of whom already got one spam; those who didn’t ‘like’ as a result, no doubt, will be more persuaded to do so by bothering them further. They also suggest sharing it to my personal timeline. As if; one of the key objectives here was to decouple my public presentation from my private life. Another easy tactic: nag my friends to recommend my page. Yeah, because beggary is such a classy look.

Yeah, so forget those. I have a better idea: post actual content that people might enjoy.

Day ten: now it’s nagging me to set up automatic responses to new messages. As if I get such an avalanche of new PMs that I need an answering service. An automatic response is no response, and therefore only annoys; might use it when on vacation, or otherwise well away from the blog. Today must be response day because there’s also a nag to increase my response time. If I trim it down to fifteen minutes, I am told, I will get to wear a special badge. Let me guess: it’s the badge that says “I have no life except to respond to these messages.”

Naturally, there’s also a nag to get started with automated ads. Those are beginning to fade into the wallpaper for me.

Day eleven: since this was the day Facebook was borcked in most ways for most of the US daylight hours, as a side benefit, I didn’t get any nags. Either that or I am better every day at ignoring them. Now and then I’m going to repost some older posts from here. Naturally, for the much older ones, I will do some hasty editing so that I don’t have to post them with a bag over the profile picture.

I suppose it’s time to tie this up with a bow. The experience was chaotic, and felt designed to overwhelm–to inspire one to just say yes to some of the things, in order to still at least a few of the yammers. It doesn’t work on me because I have at least some technical background and have the attitude of a constipated badger when I feel pressured, but it probably works on enough people that it generates some advertising revenue.

On the positive side, there’s a moderately refined mechanism for private conversation engagement if someone PMs me. Some of the statistics are nice, even if they do turn out to be nag platforms: “This post is performing better than 75% of your other posts–Boost it for greater reach!”

At least it’ll offer a good place to post links for these.