Not by choice! Last year we were persuaded (swindled) into purchasing a magazine subscription from one of these door-to-door salespersons- saleskid since he was maybe fourteen- who claimed to be travelling the country selling magazines to pay for college. (Get a grant or take out loans, ensuring yourself years of horrible debt like everyone else, kid!)
We knew it wasn't a good deal and that we could buy cheaper by going directly through the magazine's website, however we both wussed out and gave in to this little Oliver Twist. We don't even really buy magazines but finally Jeremy chose EGM (Electronic Gaming Monthly) so we could send little Oliver on his way back to Fagin. It took almost seven months before the first magazine finally arrived.
Now, after about five issues of EGM's sporadic delivery and many missing issues, what do I find in my mailbox? Yes, Maxim Magazine. In MY name, by the way. Great. On the front is a sticker from the publisher informing me that 'Unfortumately EGM is no longer in print. As a courtesy our publisher's have substituted Maxim so you can enjoy uninterrupted service'.
Gee, thanks! I can now peruse scholarly features such as: Ask A Hot Bartender, and What Women Hear When You Talk Star Wars. I haven't even mentioned the hot, scantily clad (and heavily airbrushed) chicks. This magazine also answers the timeless questions 'What happens to the fat after liposuction' [What is not used elsewhere in the body or for research is incinerated] and 'Can one actually be scared to death?' [Yes, you can].
While playing with Violet outside today our mail carrier approached to hand off the goods. I saw the magazine and said something like "Oh great, another Maxim." This next exchange proves that mail workers do indeed notice what you get in the mail. This is the third or fourth issue we've received, but he said, "Yeah, I showed them in the mail room that you guys were getting a gaming magazine and they switched it to Maxim. How'd they know they weren't sending it to a child?" Good point, yet creepy that they pay attention to such things.
And remember them. Ugh.
So, moral of the story: put a No Soliciting sign on your door and your life will be much better.