Things That Go Bump in Our Everyday Lives

Who Needs a Haunted House When You've Got Real Life?

Every October, people willingly pay good money to walk through haunted houses, where strangers in elaborate costumes jump out of dark corners to scare them senseless.

Personally, I don't see the appeal.

I've lived long enough to know that real life offers plenty of frightening experiences without theatrical fog, fake blood, or a chainsaw-wielding lunatic chasing me down a hallway.

Besides, if I want a genuine fright, I can simply open my mail.

The Price of Being Alive

Remember when getting a letter from your insurance company was routine?

Now it's practically a medical event.

You open the envelope, glance at the premium, and immediately check your policy to see whether they've added a vacation home, a yacht, or perhaps a small Caribbean island you don't remember buying.

And the explanation is always so reassuring.

Due to rising costs, we must adjust your premium.

Adjust?

That's an interesting word for what just happened to my checking account.

Of course, the letter ends with a thank-you for your continued loyalty.

Apparently, loyalty is a one-way financial arrangement.

And insurance companies aren't the only ones being creative.

There’s a processing fee for your payment, a convenience fee for paying online, and a service charge for services nobody can adequately explain.

We've even managed to turn water into a premium product.

Pour it into a glass from your kitchen faucet, and it costs next to nothing. Put it in a plastic bottle, give it a fancy name, and suddenly we're willing to pay several dollars for the convenience of carrying around something we've had access to all along.

Who knew putting something free into a plastic bottle could become such a profitable business model?

Technology: The Convenience That Requires a Manual

Technology was supposed to make our lives easier.

That's what they told us.

Take passwords.

Once upon a time, you created one, remembered it, and went on with your business.

Now it must contain twelve characters, including two capital letters, three numbers, a special symbol, and possibly the maiden name of your third-grade teacher's first husband.

And just when you've finally memorized it, the system tells you it's expired.

Naturally, you can't reuse any of your previous seventeen passwords.

Then there's the endless parade of updates.

You turn on your computer to accomplish something that should take five minutes, only to discover that an update is required.

Forty-five minutes later, your settings have changed, and the feature you needed has been moved to a location known only to the software engineers.

But don't worry. They've improved your experience.

And why does everything need an app?

We have appliances that require smartphones, televisions that demand internet connections, and household devices that need to communicate with one another before performing their assigned tasks.

I remember when you could turn on a lamp by flipping the switch.

Now you can control your lights from another continent.

Wonderful.

But if the internet goes down, you may have to sit in the dark until your router and your lamp resolve their communication issues.

Nothing says progress quite like spending twenty minutes figuring out how to do something that took thirty seconds yesterday.

The Never-Ending Payment Plan

And that brings us to perhaps the most frightening development of all.

We no longer need to own anything.

We just need to keep paying for it.

Software? Subscription.

Movies? Subscription.

Music? Subscription.

Additional features on something you've already purchased? There's probably a subscription for those, too.

Somewhere in a corporate boardroom, someone must have asked, "Why sell customers something once when we can charge them every month for the rest of their natural lives?"

And everyone else thought that was brilliant.

Remember when you bought software and actually owned it outright?

You paid for it, installed it, and used it until you decided you wanted something newer.

Now you pay monthly for the privilege of continuing to use it.

Stop paying, and the privilege disappears.

It's an interesting business arrangement. You provide the money indefinitely, and they provide access as long as you keep paying.

Everybody wins.

Well, somebody does.

And this philosophy isn't limited to technology.

Consider automobiles.

There was a time when paying off your car was a genuine cause for celebration.

You made the final payment, got the title, and enjoyed the glorious realization that the vehicle in your driveway actually belonged to you.

Now, leasing offers an appealing alternative.

You can drive a beautiful new vehicle, often with a lower monthly payment than financing a comparable vehicle, and return it a few years later.

For some people, that arrangement makes perfect sense.

But there's something fascinating about how thoroughly we've embraced making payments without ever reaching the finish line.

You return the car, choose another, and start the process all over again.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped celebrating the final payment and started celebrating the next one.

Why encourage ownership when you can establish a permanent financial relationship?

It's practically romantic.

Except one party keeps sending invoices.

Welcome to the Haunted House

So here we are, living in an age of unprecedented technological advancement and modern convenience.

We're paying more, owning less, and spending an astonishing amount of time learning to operate things that were supposed to save us time.

And we're expected to be grateful for this.

Frankly, I think the traditional haunted house is losing its competitive edge.

A masked stranger jumping out of a closet doesn't frighten me nearly as much as a surprise bill.

A ghost floating down a hallway can't compete with a computer announcing that my password has expired.

And a vampire demanding access to my neck seems almost reasonable compared with a company demanding access to my checking account every month.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Isn't Louise supposed to be writing about dating and relationships?

Usually, yes. But after reviewing insurance premiums, software subscriptions, and car leases, I've discovered something disturbing.

At least with a bad date, you can decide not to see him again.

Try explaining that to your insurance company.

So, if someone invites you to a haunted house this Halloween, accept the invitation.

Think about it.

You pay one admission fee, get exactly the frightening experience you were promised, and when you've had enough, you walk out the door.

No recurring charges. No password requirements. No automatic renewal.

Come to think of it, a haunted house may be the best bargain you'll find all year.

Happy Halloween!