Dear Loot Crate,
We need to talk.
You should probably sit down. I know that you're a monthly subscription service that sends me a random collection of geeky items that I pay for in advance, so are you even able to sit down? Do you have a lap? If you do have a lap or something like it, please use it to sit because this may be difficult to hear.
I need a break. Maybe an end. Things haven't been the same and the love we had... I'm just not feeling it anymore.
This is a breakup.
I'm sorry. Let me explain.
It's not you. It's me. Well, that's not completely true, it's actually a lot about you. About the way your persistence and your lack of focus are driving me crazy, but let me also accept some responsibility for the changes I've gone through that led to this moment.
Maybe I should start at the beginning.
July 2014. You were new on the scene and I was curious. All my friends were talking about you, about your passion for geeky things like "Minecraft" and comic books books and "Game of Thrones." And around that time, there was an online discount. so I figured I didn't have much to lose. I could handle a three-month fling for $48. It was time to throw caution to the wind and live a little. I'll admit it, I was smitten.
And it was great at first, it really was. Our relationship for a long time was full of surprises and sweet secrets. Every month, a discreet black box with your name on it arrived at my doorstep and I couldn't wait to see what was inside. There was that month you sent me a limited edition Pop bobblehead of Groot from "Guardians of the Galaxy." I had just seen the movie and was over the moon. That Groot with his little glow-in-the-dark hand still sits on my desk. He's watching me type right now. No, I'm not having second thoughts. And by the way, how "Limited Edition" can Groot be if I can buy him on Amazon.com? You didn't think I'd find out about that, did you?
As our relationship deepened and I invested more into keeping things going, your interests broadened and your growing popularity put you in a different social circle, Soon you were sending me things from your pals at "Star Wars" and "Star Trek" like those orange BB-8 socks or the furry Tribble. It was impressive. I told all my friends and posted photos on social media about our time together, something you encouraged. We were in love. I felt for a while like you could do no wrong.
But after a while, I began to suspect I wasn't the primary focus of your affection. You offered a new set of bonus crates I couldn't afford beyond the $20-a-month base price. You expanded into areas like pets and anime that don't really interest me. You started a whole separate service around the TV show "Firefly" and yeah, that was a great show and all, but were you beginning to forget about me and my interests? How much "Firefly" stuff does one person need in a lifetime?
I began to feel like you were hanging out with a different crowd that was way more into Harry Potter and "Hunger Games" than I could ever be. I barely know what a "TARDIS" is, but you seemed to think I'd be thrilled to pay for us to enjoy a box of exclusive "Doctor Who" merchandise together. I made other plans.
For the month of my birthday, you gave me a cheap-looking "Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice" wallet. I have no interest in seeing that movie and just last year, you sent me a similar 'Simpsons" wallet. Did you forget? How many cartoon wallets am I supposed to carry around? Do you even know me anymore?
I know I sound spoiled. I know you've tried to make me happy, to keep the excitement going. But the surprises are no longer surprising and the tchotchkes have piled up to the point where I don't have any more shelf space to put a plastic figure from "Alien vs. Predator" or desk space to keep a hideous Marvel Venom mug that I had to throw away because it was giving my children nightmares.
At one time, I thought I couldn't live without you, but it turns out you're complicating my life by giving me more than I handle. Half the time, I give away the things you send me to coworkers or donate them. I'm sorry you had to find out this way; I should have told you sooner. But you seemed so happy, including catalogs in each box detailing how excited you were to choose these particular items. You included games on the boxes themselves to keep me entertained. You sent me emails begging me to get my friends to start seeing you, too, and you have to admit, that's a little gross.
But if I'm being completely honest, I think the real reason we're here, in this moment, is that I've outgrown you. It's hard for me to get excited about a set of zombie ear soaps from "The Walking Dead" or an Optimus Prime T-shirt. I'm not 15 anymore.
Don't be mad. We never said we were exclusive. You have 400,000 people you're seeing right now. You're part of a booming subscription box industry that people seem to love. You'll be fine. You don't need me.
Before I go, I'll tell you my favorite thing you ever did for me. One month, you send me a bright yellow Los Pollos Hermanos apron from "Breaking Bad." You knew how much I loved that show, how much I missed it and how badly I needed a cute apron. I'll still wear it and think of you. I'll think of the good times and try to forget the piles of useless clutter that stressed me out. But first, I'll be canceling my account.
It's been fun and I wish you well. Maybe we'll meet again someday (but probably not).
Good luck and goodbye,