How I Quit Amazon Prime

Photo by Sean Robbins on Unsplash

OK, to be honest, it started out as an accident. My Prime Membership was set to expire right after my partner and I had taken the plunge and moved in together. While we decided to keep our finances separate, it obviously didn’t make sense to have multiple Netflixes (sp?) so we merged some of our digital content. Since Amazon allows a Prime Member to share their benefits with one other person and my partner pays less for his student account, he added me to his ‘household’ and I let my account expire. But here’s where it gets hairy: Once I lost my Prime, it was gone and I couldn’t figure out how to get re-Primed. It was harrowing. Then, somewhere in tiny letters on some obscure page of their website, I found it. Apparently, if your partner is on a student account, their benefits are not shareable.

So there I was, in shock, all the little blue logos once next to the items touting their expedient shipping, gone. I felt excluded from a club I belonged to for so many years, like I was a second-class citizen now. My partner gave me his password so I could use his account but in an effort to curb spending and maybe also see if the world would end, I didn’t use it. Here’s what happened:

Week One

I stopped buying shit. The world did not end.

Week Two

My son and I were no longer enthused when packages arrived, thinking it was something for us, which meant no crush of disappointment that followed when we saw my partners name on it and then later heard, “Oh, the dimmer switch for the bathroom arrived.” He gets significantly more deliveries anyway, but it’s the intermittent reinforcement that gets those dopamine levels spiking. Whatever future gambling addiction my son or I could have possibly succumbed to no longer exists.

Week Three

I inevitably needed a few things I’d previously bought on Amazon, so I saved up items in my cart until it reached $25 because that’s when you get free shipping, something I forgot about after living the luxurious life of never-ending, no-cost package delivery. Then I waited an entire week for it to arrive. I felt an inordinate sense of wonder at my own patience. Delayed gratification, my friends.

Week Four

I needed to buy a birthday gift. I didn’t plan ahead and nothing would arrive in time without paying extra shipping so I thought about hopping on my partner’s account. Except, I didn’t. I’d made it this far. Instead of spending hours reading reviews and being overwhelmed by the sheer amount of options, I went out into the world and picked out a present in the flesh. Like I walked into an actual store and had to say hello to someone and make small talk about the weather, which is tough but also, I’ll admit, kind of refreshing. There were limited options, making it easy to decide, and it felt more personal than simply clicking Add to Cart from a Wishlist.

So what started out as a tragic experience, with the band-aid ripped off of a wound I don’t even think I had, became something of a revelation for me. I don’t have any personal thoughts on Amazon as a company, but I like knowing I can live without something that has subtly become an integral part of our lives. It makes me want to return to simpler times, which has me contemplating if I should get rid of my computer altogether and get a typewriter instead. Maybe plant a garden and knit my own gifts made of wool from the urban sheep farm I now feel compelled to start in my backyard. Then I’ll sell my hand-made goods on Amazon, because I love when life ironically comes full circle.