Dear Christy,

This is the letter I’ve dreaded writing for some time. Till recently, I have been nothing but faithful. But, as you know, some months have passed since we last talked. The longer the absence, the harder it is to face you, to break the news of our breakup.

I feel like such the cheat.

Don’t take this personally. It’s not about you. It’s about me.

For years, weekend after weekend, you met my needs, and I met yours. Win-win, as they say in business.

I still remember those three words you said at the counter: “What’s your number?” My phone number was the password for my account, I soon learned. Still, it was nice to hear a girl ask for it — a rarity for me. You continued asking thereafter, that same question passing between your lips before I passed my money to you. It was a fine routine.

Granted, it would have been nice if you had memorized my phone number at some point. That would have made for a more personal touch. You could have even called me now and then, too, asked me how a movie was going, but you never did. I tried not taking that personally. It was business.

I’m not sure what I would have done without you and your movie store. There were so many lonely nights. It was a beautiful relationship, dating clear back to the VHS era, the 8-tracks of video.

So, what happened to us, my dear movie store manager?— surely this you must wonder.

Brace yourself, for I have found another.

Yes, that Internet tramp you call Netflix came calling, sucked me in finally like a siren song.

How horrible it must be for you, a video store manager, to hear that dreadful name: Netflix.

To my credit, I long held out for your sake, even as more and more friends started singing the praises of Netflix. No thanks, I said. Never would I desert my local video store. Never would I succumb to a soul-less online movie rental service. For what is a man sans scruples?

But last summer, temptation overtook me when a friend, Pat, pushed a coupon on me for a free month of Netflix.

Free!

Of course, I signed up, all the while believing that I would sever all ties with Netflix at month’s end when things were no longer free. My strategy was simple: order only movies unavailable at your store. I would still rent from you those I wanted to see that you had in stock. It seemed like the perfect win-win-win scenario.

So how did it go amok?

Three words: “Curb Your Enthusiasm.”

In the past, I had requested that you stock this hilarious HBO series, but you didn’t seem enthused. So, at the click of a mouse, “Curb Your Enthusiasm” Season One DVDs started to conveniently appear in my mailbox. Then came Season Two; then came Season Three. The series dates back to 2000 (it recently ended its seventh season) so I had some catching up to do. Before I knew it, my free month of Netflix expired, and I willingly became an official paying customer, joining the ranks of more than 10 million subscribers. I could not quit Larry David.

The personalized movie list (called a queue) created within my Netflix account is quite lengthy. Regretfully, not all the titles on it are “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” There are also other titles that — how can I break this to you gently? — are available at your store: Dexter, Californication, etc. Forgive me.

I am a weak, lazy man, Christy. The movie rental part of my life is much simpler now. Any movie I want, Netflix has. I keep them for as long as I want. There are no late fees. When finished, I return them in a postage-paid Netflix-provided envelope and stick it in any mailbox. No driving is required — heck I’m saving the earth. A couple days later, another movie arrives. There are also titles available to view online at no added charge.

Look on the bright side, Christy. You continue to monopolize the movie rental business in our one-video-store town. You outlasted the competition. Heck, your store survived a Catholic Church boycott and drove Blockbuster out of town. I rented hundreds of movies from you and paid far too many late fees. I gave you my all.

But there’s a new kid in town now. Well, in cyber town. Netflix is more convenient, cost competitive and has bells and whistles you can’t provide.
Like I said before, it’s not you. It’s me.

It’s business.

So now you know. Maybe I’ll stop by sometime, if I can ever bring myself to face you in person. You will ask for my phone number. I’ll rent a movie or two. I will likely pay a late fee. It’ll be just like old times. But don’t get your hopes up for anything long term. I need my Netflix fix.

So there you have it, Christy. I have come clean with you. So why is it I still feel so dirty?

NewsSip

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