I’m afraid Amazon is always stalking me. The whole truth really hurts

I was mentally prepared.

This is a big day, and it requires more self-control than I fear I can muster.

I am human. I like partial persuasion. Then you would think Amazon Prime Day would reveal all of my inherent weaknesses in one daring attempt to unbridled spending.

You see, I make the assumption that all the big web brands follow me around. They know everything about me. They know what I like, what I like to eat, and even what I like to do when I’m not really clutching one device or another.

So on Prime Day, I’m scheduled to open the Amazon homepage and discover the temptation that makes Adam and the apple seem so heavily PG-rated. Prime Day is a big deal for Amazon. It has a lot of things to change. I am the ultimate goal of everything.

You know me, Amazon. You really know me.

I nervously narrowed my eyes.

I feel certain that Amazon is going to show me a bunch of desirable things that are suddenly 20% off, or perhaps 30. If they’re 50% off, they’ll be in my cart within a few minutes. a few seconds.

However, when I opened my eyes a little more, I felt strange.

Amazon’s homepage suggested the iRobot Roomba, Oral-B electric toothbrush, Samsung phone and oh, Levi’s shorts.

Dear Amazon, I think you care. I don’t need Roomba. I just went to the dentist last week, and she said that I brush my teeth very well even though I have European teeth. Samsung phones? But Amazon, you know, I’ve been an iPhone fan since Nokia lost its sense of things – right?

What about Levi’s cropped shorts? You flatter me, Amazon. Of course, I’m proud of my ex-footballer’s hamstrings and glutes, but do you really want to put me in the Levi’s ranks?

I scrolled down, believing Amazon to be merely humble. There will definitely be a special section of specially recommended items just for me. And today, as they say, is controlled by machines that follow me closely and know my complete insides.

As I scrolled towards the recommendations, Amazon yelled, “Don’t miss this deal.” Naturally, I stopped. What could this deal be? Why for “LOL Surprise! Bigger Surprise movies include OMG Fashion Dolls.”

Surprise! I don’t know what this is. In that order, a careful examination of those words only told me that this was a doll. Of some kind.

OMG, Amazon.

I am special. Very special.

Finally, though, the individual recommendations are specific.

Amazon teases me with golf clubs. Okay, I play golf, but I recently bought some clubs. On Amazon. Why do I need more?

Next on the carousel of fun, Amazon recommends a FireTV stick and a surge protector, two technologies I’ve never coveted.

The next recommendation is: “Color Wow Dream Coat Supernatural Spray – The award-winning anti-frizz spray keeps hair frizz-free for days regardless of weather with moisture-wicking moisture-proof technology; the result is aqua hair. pure.”

At this point, my heart begins to harden like a Jeff Bezos bicep.

Amazon, we’ve been together for many years. More than a decade. And no one told you that I really have no hair? What kind of smart tracking technology are you using? What IQ does it have?

This is like going on a first date, and your future lover will throw you questions they’ve prepared in advance without actually reading your dating profile.

Oh no, Amazon. You don’t know me at all.

Amazon has not done.

Next on the individual conveyor belt are shaving products. Female and male. Does Amazon really question who or what I am so much? Or could its AI be throwing sales spaghetti against the wall and hoping some of it sticks to an inexplicable reason?

You see, followed by “NOCO Boost Plus GB40 1000A 12V UltraSafe UltraSafe Battery Starter Box, Car Battery Booster, Portable Power Bank and Jumper Cable for Up to 6 Liter Gasoline and Diesel Engines. 3 liter diesel engine.”

And all this because I used to buy a tire pressure gauge on Amazon? This is the most unimaginable snooping-based recommendation technology I’ve ever seen.

It knows very little. I’m afraid it knows practically nothing.

As my proof, I can point to four final recommendations: Elemis pro-collagen Cleansing Oil, Wilson tennis rackets, Amazon sleep aids, and Camco RV parts and accessories.

This is like watching a giraffe penalty shootout. This is like watching an elephant climb a flagpole. This is worse than Netflix’s recommendation engine.

I don’t use a cleansing balm, I don’t play tennis, I sleep pretty well, thank you, and I don’t own an RV.

After that, my Official Day experience was pretty uplifting.

Perhaps tech companies don’t know as much about us as we fear. Perhaps their machines are so linear that they really are like rudimentary bookworms, completely unaware of even the basic nuances of the human soul.

Perhaps there is hope, after all.

And no, I didn’t buy anything on Prime Day. Well, apart from a few books.

But Amazon didn’t recommend those.