There is a certain class of “scam” that only perpetuates because enough people fall for them that they’re profitable to the perpetrators. I’ve written about plenty of these in the past (the 12dailypro thing comes to mind), but it’s time right now to focus on a new one, or, rather, a whole group of them all operated by the same company — Trilegiant.

Trilegiant is a marketing firm. Their goal in life is, like so many other marketing firms, to fill your brain (and mine) with as many name brand partners as they can (among a list of name brand partners who’ve paid them for this privilege).

Here’s how their scams work:

• You are given some enticement, either the promise of a $20 gas card, or a $40 gift card to some overpriced store, or sometimes even a real, live, actual check worth between $2.50 and $8 a piece, to get you to join one of their programs. These include programs like “AutoVantage,” “Just Like Me,” and so on. Applying for the free gift, or cashing the check, automatically enrolls you in the program that gift comes from.
• The first month is a “free trial” — though if you apply online they collect your credit card information — you’re not billed the annual membership fee (of one hundred twenty dollars) until day 31 of your membership. Apparently, cashing the check gives them enough routing/billing information to automatically deduct the membership amount straight from your checking account, or they keep your billing information from previous enrollments from other programs they run (presumably, they don’t send these checks to someone they don’t have live billing information for).
• Each of these programs supposedly offers massive discounts and savings, and “buyer protections.” In the “discounts” department, they offer members discounts (certain percent off) at common (usually national chain, or at least regional chain) places. Those discounts are, of course, just enough to get the prices back down to normal; either it’s a non-name vendor who overcharges by default for things (that nobody ever pays them full price for, since they only ever service “members”), or the discounts are the same as you can get in a circular or a newspaper.
• For “buyer protection,” the programs claim that if you buy some random thing at a random store at regular price, then that item goes on sale at that store for some lower price within 30 days, you’ll get a refund of the difference from the program.
• There are other assorted “little” offerings, but it amounts to very little of value.
• To cancel, you’re supposed to call a phone number, or, depending on the program, send a letter. The number to call is hidden. The mailing address is fucking buried (finding it for AutoVantage took half an hour of digging around online).

Here’s how these plans make these people money:

• The enticement (the gift for joining) is never worth as much as the membership fee, and it’s generally spread across the year-long term of the membership (that is, you may get $80 in gas cards, but only in $20 increments, one per quarter of your membership; you have to stay a member and pay their $120 fee to get those gas cards). Cancelling during the trial period means you only get some (not all) of the supposedly “free” stuff you get for joining, and cancellation is hard.
• Some programs accept cancellations by mail, others only by phone. Since the same company runs them all, if you join more than one at a time, and find the mailing address to send a cancellation to, you’re likely to just fire off cancellation letters to each one and write it off as done. None of the programs actually state in advance whether they accept cancellations by mail or not (here’s a hint: they all do; even if they claim they don’t, if it turns into a dispute involving a bank, they’ll back down instantly); you only find out when the time comes for them to try to bill you (or not bill you) for the membership fee.
• Most people completely forget they deposited a little check or applied for something free online. Because the target audience on these ripoffs is the affluent upper-middle class family, they figure some $120 automatically disappearing once a year from a checking account won’t be noticed, and they’ll just let it go.
• They cheerfully refund the full membership cost, because it’s cheaper than getting sued, and they earn a bit of interest on the money while they’re holding onto it.

Now For the Fun Part

Here’s how you can scam these companies right back:

• Sign up for as many of the programs they’ll let you join. You’ll get anything from $2.50 cash to a $20 gas card for joining. The instant you join, write down every piece of contact information for them you can find. Generally you’re e-mailed a login pretty quickly for the “membership site,” and from there you can record everything you can on how to cancel (e-mail, phone call, writing, etc.?). You’ve got 30 days to finish this from the moment you hit the [SUBMIT] button when you join.
• About a week later, you should receive the membership junk. If your enticement is something they have to mail to you, you’ll receive either the actual reward or some written confirmation that it’s on its way; they’re surprisingly good about this part.
• After two weeks, cancel. Jump through the hoops they want you to jump through (generally, they prefer you call them, so their live operators can spew over five minutes of marketing drivel at you before they “close” the pitch with a statement like “so it’ll just take 7 days for that to arrive and I’ll just keep that account open, okay?” Just stay on-message (heh), repeat yourself a lot, and close the account. You’ll get a cancellation number. If you don’t, you haven’t cancelled the account yet. Try again.
• After you’ve done that, immediately mail a letter to the mailing address(es) you’ve found for the programs, requesting a cancellation. Include the cancellation number you’ve already received. Record the date you sent it, and drop the sucker in the mail.

If all goes well, you’re off the hook for that $120 fee (don’t worry, you’re not on the hook for it anyway) and they’ll leave you alone. You’ve just scored about $20 off a marketing company for the cost of a stamp and about half an hour of your time.

If all doesn’t go well, and you spot a charge at your bank, call the bank up immediately and dispute the charge (a hint: don’t bother using PayPal for this; they’re not nearly as consumer-friendly as most banks (how’s that for irony, given that I consider banks to be seriously consumer unfriendly overall?), and will fight harder for the merchant in a dispute). After you’ve started that process, call up Triligient and ask to cancel again. Reference the cancellation number, and demand an immediate refund. Even if it’s past the 30 day free trial, they’ll cheerfully give that money back without a single word of complaint, because they’d rather have you go away quietly than come after them with a lawyer (that’s what munges up their margins).

The World Hates Americans for a Reason

…and part of that reason is that we are seriously stupid people (as a country). The fact that this kind of company can even exist and thrive tells us that they have enough business to be cash flow positive even though they’re selling someone else’s product (at a loss), giving away free stuff, and paying staffers to answer phones and process cancellations/refunds.

Sigh. Maybe I’m just bitter because I haven’t thought up a good scam myself yet

Did you know that there are 71.9 acres of nipple tissue in the U.S.?