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| Marcel Strigberger |
I always enjoyed reading classic fiction such as Oliver Twist or A Tale of Two Cities, as well as a good Superman comic book. Which gets me to the book club scam.
You would see ads in, as you guessed it, the comic books. The ad would read something like, “For 99 cents, we’ll send you three classic books of your choice from this list.” Sounded good to me.
I actually bit into this one, investing about a week’s allowance to nurture my reading habits. For my 99 cents they sent me three quintessentials, namely The Count of Monte Cristo, Les Misérables and a book of Aesop’s fables, which included a treasury of tales about animals, all ending with a strong inspirational moral message. The anticipated package arrived, and I recall that the pages were of ridiculously poor quality. The paper must have been made from tossed out desk ink blotters.
I enjoyed reading the books. The shock, however, came when I realized I was now on the hook to purchase more books periodically at exorbitant prices until whichever came first, my 95th birthday or the arrival of the Messiah.
I lived in Montreal, and I soon started getting threatening letters from this company in Toronto, unaffectionately referred to as “Hogtown.”
One of them read something like, “You have signed a contract, and you are bound to buy more books. If you don’t, there will be legal consequences.” The letterhead sported a graphic of an angry-looking judge with a wig slamming a gavel. This rattled me as I recalled that Edmond Dantès, a.k.a., the Count of Monte Cristo, spent 14 years imprisoned at the infamous Château d’If off the coast of Marseille.
For that matter, Les Misérables’ Jean Valjean got sent to the slammer for about 20 years for stealing a loaf of bread.
I took these threats somewhat seriously. This was Quebec, where French law prevailed. Nor would I have felt better had I lived in Toronto and been threatened with the British equivalent of being sentenced to serve time in a debtor’s prison. I was beside myself.
I couldn’t show these letters to my parents as in addition to not wanting to alarm them, they did not read English. Eventually I discussed the matter with my next-door neighbour, a teacher. Mrs. Greenspoon was helpful. She sent these Toronto goons a letter telling them I was a penniless 10-year-old kid and asked them to drop the matter. She pointed out in referring to Aesop that after all here was a reader who numbered among his heroes the grasshopper and the ant.
The Hogtown hooligans eventually backed off, demanding that we return the three books by post. With my good neighbour’s help, we went to the post office and shipped them back. The French Canadian postal clerk was apparently familiar with this drill, commenting, “Dat’s good. Give it back to those Anglais.” (He actually used a colourful adjective before the word Anglais.)
I decided there and then in future I would think thrice before ever affixing my John Henry to a document.
Actually, historically, many jurisdictions protected certain classes of people from the onuses of signing contracts. These classes included “infants, married women and lunatics.” History wasn’t all bad. I felt like I was in good company.
However, in law school we learned that contracts can happen even when you don’t expect them. I think of that iconic English 1893 Carlill v. Carbolic Smoke Ball case where the smoke ball company offered 100 pounds to anyone who used their product and still contracted the flu. Lili Carlill used the smoke ball and of course she contracted the flu. The company refused to pay up, claiming there was no enforceable contract and that the ad was mere “puffery.” She sued Smoke Ball and the court found for the plaintiff, noting that the defendant’s advertisement did constitute an enforceable contract and was not mere “puffery” (I guess that’s what the British called B.S. in 1893).
And when I think about contracts, I note how nasty people can get aggressive when they want someone to sign one. I recall that scene in The Godfather where Michael Corleone, in discussing a potential contracting party, says something like, “My father made him an offer he can’t refuse. … Either his signature or his brains would be on that contract.” I thought I got off easily with that book club.
I don’t even accept freebies if it means getting into legal obligations. For example, I see many Starbucks outlets often offer customers free Wi-Fi access. All you have to do is agree to the terms and conditions. I don’t even want to check out these terms and conditions for fear of falling into servitude. I visualize some lawyer who, after graduating from Attila the Hun Law School, joins a big law firm and gets assigned to draft some Draconian clauses.
They probably read something like this:
Privacy?
- Ha, ha, ha! We have the right to share all your user information with necessary third parties. Necessary third parties include Starbucks, Google and Amazon. Also, your personal information may find itself on Mark Zuckerberg’s Facebook page. If you see it there, you hereby agree to like it.
Improper use of Wi-Fi
- You may not transmit viruses, worms or Trojan horses. You will be required to clean up any mess made by any such horses.
Damages
- We are not responsible for damages, injuries or traumas, however caused, other than those governed by the 2013 Sumatran Java Convention. In such case, damages will be limited to one venti cappuccino (275 calories). For strawberry or vanilla extract, please add 50 cents.
As they say, “There is no such thing as a free latte” (or thereabouts).
Being a lawyer and shunning contracts might be an oxymoron. Maybe it is, maybe not. But there is certainly rhyme and reason to my reluctance. And at this stage the law will no longer protect me as an infant, a married woman or, perish the thought, a lunatic.
Marcel Strigberger retired from his Greater Toronto Area litigation practice and continues the more serious business of humorous author and speaker. His book, Boomers, Zoomers, and Other Oomers: A Boomer-biased Irreverent Perspective on Aging, is available on Amazon (e-book) and in paper version. His new(!) book First, Let’s Kill the Lawyer Jokes: An Attorney’s Irreverent Serious Look at the Legal Universe is available on Amazon, Apple and other book places. Visit www.marcelshumour.com. Follow him on X @MarcelsHumour.
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