Is Chemistry Cheating with Pittsburgh Match.com Males Profiles?
BlueEyes1962 14 Feb 2008 | : Not As Advertised, Pittsburgh Observations, Scams
Cathy Day writes about her experiences with Chemistry.com in this excerpt from her book, Comeback Season: How I Learned to Play the Game of Love:
My credit card bill drops through the mail slot, and there’s another $99 charge from Chemistry.com. How can this be? The last time I talked to them, I said I wouldn’t be renewing my membership. So I get on the horn with Chemistry.
“How may we help you today?”
“Yes, I’m calling about an incorrect charge.”
The customer service concierge looks up my account information. “I see that you were charged for another three-month membership.”
“Yes, well, I called you guys a few months ago to complain about the lack of response I was getting, and at that time, I told you I didn’t want to renew my membership.”
The concierge explains that this is not the proper procedure to cancel a membership.
I ask, “So calling customer service and saying, ‘I don’t want to renew,” isn’t the right procedure?”
No, it is not. Apparently, when I joined Chemistry in July, I agreed to their automatic renewal terms. Apparently, I was supposed to cancel my membership online, not over the phone. And I cannot cancel my membership now, today, and receive a pro-rated refund. There’s a deadline after which you’re locked in for the full three months, and that deadline came and went—two days ago.
The concierge says, “Also I see that, since the automatic renewal went into effect, you have used our services.”
I laugh. “No, I haven’t.”
“Yes ma’am, you have,” the matchmaking concierge insists. “I see here that you logged in a few weeks ago and communicated with a Robert?”
Robert the Gambler! I forgot about that. I wanted to ask him a dumb question: “When you say that a woman must love to gamble, do you mean that literally or figuratively?” The answer—literally—is going to cost me $99.
“Look,” I say, “I wouldn’t have logged in if I thought it was going to cost me anything. I assumed you were giving me free time on my membership, like you do for men.”
Silence. “Ma’am, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I would like to ask you one question. How many male members do you have within a twenty mile radius of Pittsburgh?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have that—”
No! Strike that! How many ACTIVE male members do you have within a twenty mile radius of Pittsburgh?”
“We don’t have that information available.”
“Oh, but I’m sure you do! Somewhere in that computer of yours, I’ll bet you know exactly how many men use Chemistry in the Pittsburgh area. I’m a consumer, and I deserved to know that information so I could decide if I was going to get my money’s worth, because let me tell you, I did NOT get my money’s worth from your service.”
Pause. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but we can’t make any guarantees. Basically, we only provide a means for people to communicate with each other.”
“Communicate…with…each…other,” I say, drawing those words out. “Exactly. Look in your computer there and see how many men actually responded to my profile.”
“I see a Rick…”
“Yes, Rick, who informed me that he hasn’t paid for his Chemistry membership in a long time. He told me that he thinks you guys don’t have enough men on your roll to satisfy female customers, so you just keep giving men like him free renewals!”
“No, ma’am. That is not our policy.”
“Aren’t you owned by the same company as Match.com?”
Pause. “Yes.”
“Well, here’s what I think. You guys were sending me profiles of men who don’t actually subscribe to Chemistry. They subscribe to Match.com. You borrowed their information from Match to artificially inflate your rolls and keep women like me happy!”
“No, ma’am. That is not our policy.”
“Why should I have to pay $99…TWICE…when a man doesn’t have to pay anything? That is a discriminatory. You’re taking advantage of women.”
“No, ma’am. That is not our policy.”
I’m so mad, I don’t know what to do with myself. “You’re not going to do anything to help me, are you? You’re going to charge me another $99 and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it?”
The concierge maintains a neutral tone. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“Put this in your computer. When this three-month membership is over, it’s over. Got it?”
“Yes. I’ll take care of it.”
“Good!”
I hang up the phone and scream so loud that my cat jumps straight up in the air. Then I call my mom. “These people…these people!” I stammer.
“Cathy? What’s wrong?”
I tell her exactly what’s wrong.
Mom sighs. “You know, when you started doing this, I was afraid for you. I thought the men you met might turn out to be bad people. But so far, they’ve turned out to be pretty normal. Pretty nice.”
“I know! It’s these snake oil salesmen who’re driving me crazy!”
“They should be ashamed of themselves,” Mom says.
“I don’t think they give a shit,” I sigh. “You know what I’m going to do?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to prove I was right. I’ve seen guys on Match who I know I saw on Chemistry. I’m going to contact them and ask if they really joined Chemistry or not.”
“You go get ‘em!”
“Thanks, Mom.”
So Cathy – did you contact them? Were they paying for Chemistry.com? Other women I know form Pittsburgh who used the service reported that all their potential matches were from out of state.