Through a series of unfortunate events, Amazon froze my account for four long weeks – as in, no shopping, no Alexa, no Prime TV shows, no nothing. I couldn’t even review my order history or update my credit card. Almost immediately, the withdrawal set in, and it felt a lot like being dumped by a boyfriend.
First, there was denial: This can’t be happening. You don’t mean this! You’re just having a glitch on the computer. We’ll check the app. No, no, no. I’ll give you some space and come back later.
Then, anger: I gave everything to you, and this is how you treat me? Well, fine! I don’t need you anyway!
Bargaining: How about if I try to re-sign up for Prime? Is it because I keep skipping my Subscribe & Save orders? I’ll update them, I swear.
Depression: Why me? What did I do to deserve this? What’s the point of buying anything anymore if I can’t get Same Day Delivery?
Finally, acceptance: Sike! I never accepted it. I fought for us, Amazon and me, and I won that beautiful multi-billion dollar conglomerate back. When a corporation has so seamlessly inserted itself into every facet of my life I don’t just walk away. I signed a Terms & Conditions of Service for goodness sake and I intended to honor those clauses.
After five emails, a phone call, an online chat, and a fax (a fax, people), Amazon and I are back together. But things are different now. I can accept that Amazon isn’t perfect, but I can’t forget how it treated me, how it didn’t seem to care about my loyalty – those hundreds of orders I’ve placed and those thousands of dollars I’ve spent – and that changes things.
I will always remember that I survived without it for an entire month. It turns out that I’m still capable of writing down a grocery list rather than shouting it to Alexa. I actually didn’t need to order a hand puppet at midnight to assist in getting my kid to poop on the toilet. I can wait a little longer to finish the fourth season of The Americans, and I don’t mind visiting real stores to get the things I need.
We’re more mature now, Amazon and me. The thrill of opening the door to the UPS guy is gone and the weekly wrangling of cardboard in the recycling bin is old. I’ve accepted that we’re a relationship of convenience and nothing more. I’ve started dabbling with other online shops, and I’ve accepted that Amazon is branching off in directions that I don’t really understand (like the drone obsession).
But, oh, how I love that convenience. Amazon will always have a piece of my heart and my wallet, but let’s face it: Apple and Google already own the rest of it.