It’s just my exclusive luck
I’m almost too overcome to write this column. Never in my whole life have I had such a lucky day as this. When I logged on to the computer to begin this missive I checked my email and you wouldn’t believe how fortunate I am. I’ve won prizes from all around the world. OK, they might not all be lifechanging but cumulatively they represent a major uplift in my fortunes.
I’ll start with the minor windfalls. It appears I am one of only 10 customers in this area to be selected by a New Zealand supermarket for ‘‘an exclusive award’’.
I know this must be correct because I have received five identical emails confirming the fact. Indeed, it’s just possible my luck is really in and I’ve been selected five times and so represent 50 per cent of the beneficiaries of this reward.
I’m a bit puzzled by the term ‘‘exclusive award’’. For a start, it’s hardly exclusive if the honour is shared by nine other people. But perhaps I’m being too picky.
Also, why is it an ‘‘award’’ rather than a ‘‘reward’’ – am I about to be offered the Freedom of the Supermarket Aisles, or will I be presented with a commemorative plastic bag? They are soon to become collector’s items, after all.
The next email I opened promised ‘‘an exclusive reward’’ from my favourite chocolate company. Yes, this one was also exclusive, so you can see why I am so excited. All I have to do is fill in a 30-second survey about the company’s products.
No sweat, I can consume one of their big chocolate bars in less time, but I’ll leave that one for now. I don’t want to drool over the keyboard until I’ve finished this article.
Actually, the next prize was a bit of a let-down. It was an email from Amazon promising, if not untold riches, a healthy discount on its products, but when I opened it I found the enclosed gift code had already been redeemed. How could that happen? Was Julian Assange, of WikiLeaks notoriety, hacking into my inbox and stealing my prizes?
Well, if so, I forgive him. He’s obviously become incredibly bored while holed up in the Ecuadoran embassy for the past six years. I read that he’d ruined the embassy’s floor with his indoor skateboarding. I’ll be charitable and presume he nicked my Amazon voucher to order softer wheels for his skateboard.
The next ‘‘amazing reward’’ was being offered by a rival supermarket – these companies are obviously vying for a substantial market share of my chocolate purchases. Again, this involves filling in a 30-second marketing survey.
It’s amazing how these surveys are so similarly meticulously timed. However, as I rarely shop at the supermarket concerned, I feel I ought, in all conscience, refrain from commenting on its services.
This was an easy decision to make because the survey wouldn’t open anyway. Perhaps Assange had beaten me to it again. He probably has to order his groceries from Pak’n Save for delivery to the embassy door. He can hardly pop out to Tesco.
My last piece of good fortune came from a company named Contact Egery (sic). I’ll admit, I am a bit sceptical about this one. Quite apart from not being able to spell the name of the alleged company correctly, the message – offering me entry to a free competition – concluded with the signature of Fred Duval – ‘‘General Manager Encluded (sic) for You’’. Whatever that means. I couldn’t find any sign of Fred in the attachment.
I decided to pass on its free competition in case the prize was A Gyde to the Inglish Langwage.
Well, must sign off now. I’ve got a bunch of surveys to complete even though they are extremely questionable – in more ways than one.