Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Whatever, Godiva.

I was at the mall one day when, in a temporary loss of self control, I felt my body being carried by some invisible force into the Godiva store. Their alluring little corner spot on the first floor is a piece of real estate I generally try to avoid at all costs. I have vocalized my undying adoration for the Godiva product in blogs past, and to put myself in a small room in which I am surrounded by it is a recipe for physical and financial disaster. Make no mistake about it. I will empty my checking account on truffles. It's like I'm possessed. Anyway...

I BOUGHT TWO TRUFFLES! THAT'S IT! White chocolate with raspberry and Pecan Pie. Sue me. The girl who was helping me had a lazy eye that made the Notorious BIG look like a model for Lenscrafters. She was very sweet. And then she pitched it:

"Would you like to join the Godiva Rewards program? It's free and you get free truffles."

Jesus Christ. I immediately saw what this was turning into. She started to explain further:

"Every month you get two free truf–"
"Give me the paper," I interrupted. "I'm in. Give me whatever I have to sign."

Time would soon reveal that I should have had a lawyer present.

I got my first two free truffles right there on the spot. Straight money. I felt good. But about an hour later I received my first email. Something about MORE FREE TRUFFLES. I just had four, so I was good for now and deleted the email. But then when I got home I got another one. "Don't forget to pick up your free truffles from your local Godiva retailer." And so on...

I don't know what kind of glitch occurred at the Godiva command center, but I was driving to the mall about every two weeks copping free truffles. And the girls there are nice. They let you have chocolate dipped strawberries while you're looking around.

Things got out of control. In my head I began scheduling things around Godiva. The emails were pouring in. Then the Barnes & Noble by my house started selling the Truffle Bars. Vanilla Sundae. Hazelnut Gelato. WTF is happening to me, I thought. Chocolate sirens were luring my ship of reason to a devastating demise upon the shores of gluttony. This has to stop. (This was the first of about three months worth of my saying that phrase).

THREE MONTHS LATER!: I know what I have to do. I open my third Godiva email of the morning and scroll all the way down to the the ominous, frighteningly definitive link at the bottom of the page: Unsubscribe. I don't want to, but I click it. I expect some sort of, "Thank you so much for your time with us. It has been a pleasure having you aboard. We hope you will still enjoy our delicious truffles. Godiva loves you." But NO. Instead, I was immediately met with a stark white page, barely adorned with text that was at once terse, but upon fifteen to twenty re-readings revealed itself as bitter, hostile and ungrateful.

After all my loyal eating of their product without paying for it, this is the thanks I get. Where is the warmth and gratitude? Where is the open ended invitation to come back whenever I please? "Best wishes." What the hell does that mean? Your cold and indifferent sarcasm resonates a little less deliciously than your truffles. So whatever, Godiva. Best wishes to you.


  1. Cool story, Hansel. That cryptic response page from Godiva paints your infinite saddness.

  2. Truffles that you are currently not eating for free but I am:
    Cinnamon Pear - enchanting; tastes like what taking a bubble bath with Marisa Miller would feel like.
    Maple Walnut - evocative; reminds me of the woodland Christmases that I made up in my head during bleak childhood Christmases spent in Jamaica, Queens.
    Cappuccino - coffee-like; yeah, I like things that taste like coffee more than coffee itself, so yeah.