Or; the click that broke the camel’s back.
Our omnipresent Streaming Wars are both annoying and dangerous. Less a matter of mortal combat, more a scramble for mental turf. And every foray costs. Usually along the lines of $8.99 month after a free trial. By then it’s too late, autopay has you in its maw, and along with every other paywall vaulted, no hassle return purchased, and pre-boarding upgrade taken, the phalanx of charges pile up as the total picture of expenses for these titillations and fleeting glimpses recede from view.
It was the Paris Olympics that drove a last nail in my tolerance. Lifelong habit as much as anything had me want to take the bait, create my complex Peacock password, and opt in. Vini, Vidi, Vici, but soon as the torch of the games was snuffed I started the process of unsubscribing, which led to an audit of all the terms of service and premium platforms I’d been blithely agreeing to over time. After calculating the data plans, film, music, news, blogs, apps, weather, sport, science, and satellite venues frequented, the list was substantial. Saying nothing of interest on payments. (And I am mighty relieved to not have to add a gambling or gaming costs to the mix.)
