I just fell for an online marketing scam, and am considering putting my brain up for auction on eBay in the hopes that it may net me enough to buy the complete DVD set of “Police Academy”. Failing that, I plan on devoting the rest of my days to exacting my revenge on the supposedly honest companies that were willing participants in my disgrace.

They caught me in a weak moment, surfing the net, having just lost a winnable game of Spider Solitaire. A screen popped up with the words,

“Congratulations, ALEXANDRIA! You have been selected to receive a free Apple iPad, Smartphone, or a thousand dollars worth of merchandise for taking a brief survey! It will only take a few minutes.”

As it turned out, there were two instances of deceit and three outright lies in this message, and I had several clear warnings that this was likely the case. For one thing, I wasn’t born yesterday. For another, I know my name isn’t ALEXANDRIA.

Yet I went to the next screen.  Why? Curiosity, which killed the cat; avarice, because the idea of getting something for nothing was appealing. Amnesia, because I’ve seen these things before.  Cockiness, as I was certain I would be able to determine whether this was a scam or not without losing much time or anything else. And, of course, abject stupidity, because I am an idiot.

It was a brief survey, though: four questions about my web viewing habits that wisely left out “How many times a week do you fall for bait and switch tricks in on the internet?” I answered them with four swift clicks, and then read:

“Thank you! You have won a free gift. Please choose one of the following: a Dell laptop…a Smartphone….or a thousand dollar gift certificate at Wal-Mart.”

Wait a minute…where did the iPad go? That was the reward that sucked me into this, and it was gone. I now knew I had been lied to. There was no reason to trust this exercise, and an excellent reason not to. But now greed entered the game: I wanted a thousand dollars of free merchandise, especially since I had just learned that I owed even more money to the IRS than I thought I did. So I clicked on the gift certificate.

“Please supply the following information so we know where to send your gift.”

Seems reasonable. Name…address…email address…phone. Wait…why do they need my phone? Oh, what the hell…I’m already getting ten calls a day from an illicit web pharmacy because my wife once ordered a prescription drug over the internet; I can ignore a few more for a thousand dollars. Here: take the home number. Done. I can taste that Wal-Mart gas grill already!

No, not done.

“Now, please answer a few additional questions to complete the process.”

Translation: “We lied when we said this was a brief survey, and we lied when we implied that all you had to do was to provide your name and address to get your prize.” This was the third point at which a man with a functioning cerebrum would have stopped. But I am not that man.

“Oh, all right,” I thought. Then I duly answered 15 questions, all phrased to make it look like the goal was to refine a database. For example: “45% of households have income of $45,000 or less. Please indicate what your household income is by checking a box below.” Thus urged, I revealed  that I owned my own business, what my total debt was, that I buy my own insurance, the medical conditions I do and don’t have, and my bank account numbers. I’m just kidding about the account numbers, but that’s only because they didn’t ask. Did I already mention that I’m an idiot?

The little moving line at the top of the screen indicated that this, at last, was it. Now I could click “Complete” and wait for my gift certificate in the mail!

“To complete your eligibility for your reward, choose two of the following exciting offers.”

What? It wasn’t even “please” any more! Stretching out before me were “offers” from Target, Old Navy, Groupon, Netflix, Safeway, Time-Warner, assorted book, CD and DVD clubs, and many other companies, all requiring me to pay them on my credit card for “bargain” services and merchandise.

For all I know, after this section I would have been asked for my Social Security number and ordered to assassinate the President.

I was so furious at myself that I shut down the page without recording all of the companies that participated in this gang exercise in unethical marketing. Oh, the marketers were clever, all right, deftly exploiting human nature and the useful ambiguities of the English language to extract from me, under false and misleading pretenses, my address, phone number, and enough personal data to make me the target of a thousand pieces of junk mail, e-mail spam, and unsolicited phone calls. Good for them. I hope they kiss their spouses, tuck in their children, say their prayers, and get devoured by wolf spiders while they sleep.

I know this slimy business is well below the level that can be effectively policed by regulation and law; I know that these bait-and-switch, deceptive techniques are only slightly younger than the wheel, and have been exploiting suckers like me before P.T. Barnum explained where we came from. Still, it is unethical, and while what hurt most is how it reminded me how stupid I can be, I’m not forgetting or forgiving this. Those companies that I recall being part of this mass trickery will not be getting any more of my business, and the next bleat from the private sector about how the economy will grow if only we allow it more freedom is going to be received with giggles and rolled eyes from this quarter.

You guys think using lies and deceit to gain marketing information and some coupon sales is worth the loss of any shred of public trust? We shall see.

I may not be the biggest idiot after all.