A $200 Reminder

This week I paid $200 for a lesson I already knew.

Actually, lesson probably isn't the right word.

It was a reminder.

A couple of weeks ago, I came across an ad for a program about building a scalable 3D printing business.

It was well written.

It talked about finding products, figuring out what sells, and building something that could grow.

You know.

Things that someone currently trying to build a 3D printing business might be interested in.

So naturally I ignored it.

Then came the emails.

I ignored those too.

Then came the phone calls.

I successfully ignored those for a while.

Eventually I made the mistake of answering one.

His name isn't important.

What matters is that he was good at his job.

He wasn't pushy.

He was charming.

He listened.

He said reasonable things.

He asked good questions.

He talked about things that someone trying to build a business would naturally want to hear.

I watched a recording of one of their training sessions.

Then I agreed to a follow-up video call.

We talked for about an hour and a half before we finally got around to what the program cost.

It was more than I could afford.

I told him that.

Maybe in a few months.

Then came another reasonable question.

What if they could break the cost up over the next four months?

Instead of waiting until next year, I could use the busy holiday season to start putting what they taught into practice now.

That's logical.

I understood the argument.

I was still uncomfortable.

So I asked to see the agreement first.

He agreed.

There was just one other thing.

If they broke the payments up for me, would I agree to give them a testimonial after I completed the program?

Sure.

If I took the course and it helped me, I had no problem telling people that.

Then came the $200.

A good-faith, fully refundable deposit.

I checked my finances.

Pulled out a credit card.

And paid the $200.

I was told I would receive an email with my receipt and the agreement.

An hour went by.

Nothing.

I sent a text.

Someone was getting it ready.

Okay.

A few more hours went by.

Eventually the agreement arrived.

No receipt.

I asked for that again.

Eventually it arrived too.

Except the receipt didn't say anything about a fully refundable deposit on a course.

It just listed a $200 program deposit.

That bothered me.

Then I read the agreement.

That bothered me more.

There were plenty of statements about things being non-refundable.

There was language saying the written agreement superseded the conversations we'd already had.

And when it came to exactly what I was buying, there seemed to be a lot of *may include* and *content may vary.*

Not many concrete statements about exactly what I was going to receive for my money.

So I didn't sign it.

I took screenshots of every page and had another set of eyes look through it.

They found many of the same things that had made me uncomfortable.

As I'm writing this, I still haven't signed the agreement.

And I haven't heard another word from the person who spent an hour and a half talking to me before I paid the deposit.

Maybe I will.

Maybe there's a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Maybe I'll ask for my $200 back and they'll immediately refund it.

Maybe they won't.

I don't know yet.

So this isn't an article about whether I got scammed.

I don't know that I did.

It's about why the whole thing disappointed me.

I was told the $200 was a good-faith, fully refundable deposit.

And I believed those words.

Because if I told you something was fully refundable, I would mean that it was fully refundable.

There wouldn't be an asterisk hiding somewhere.

There wouldn't be a different definition waiting for you in paperwork I hadn't shown you yet.

If those words came out of my mouth, I would consider myself responsible for them.

That's just how I work.

I don't say things I don't mean.

It's something I tried to teach my children too.

Think before you speak something into existence.

Not just because you shouldn't lie.

Because words matter.

You can be angry.

You can be frustrated.

You can be in the middle of an argument with someone you love and desperately want to say the thing that will hurt them back.

But once you say it, it exists.

They may forgive you.

You may apologize.

You may wish you'd never said it.

But they still heard it.

They may forgive the words.

They probably won't forget that you said them.

I've always believed promises work the same way.

If I tell someone I'll do something, I've created an obligation for myself.

My words should mean something because they're mine.

Apparently this week I needed a $200 reminder that not everyone necessarily treats words the same way I do.

I'm not angry about it.

That's the strange part.

I'm disappointed.

A little disappointed in myself for ignoring that old voice that says if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

Disappointed that I handed over the credit card before I had the agreement in front of me.

But mostly disappointed that there's a little less trust in my fellow human beings today than there was last week.

Not all of it.

I'm probably still going to take people at their word more often than some people think I should.

Eventually.

For a while, this lesson will be fresh.

Next time I'll read the agreement before the credit card comes out.

Maybe that's worth $200.

I'd still rather have the $200.

But I don't want the lesson to be that I should stop trusting people.

And I definitely don't want the lesson to be that words don't mean anything unless somebody puts them in a contract.

I can't control what somebody else means when they give me their word.

I can control what I mean when I give them mine.

So I'll keep thinking before I speak something into existence.

I'll keep meaning what I say.

I'll just probably read the paperwork first