So The Husband and I finally succumb to rampant peer pressure and sign up for Netflix. (Yes, I am well aware Netflix has been around for over a decade … obviously, we are fairly good at resisting peer pressure.) We make the mistake, my darling and I, of signing up together, as in: at the same time on the same account just under my name. This spells disaster for all concerned.
First, The Husband and I cannot agree on even basic information like a secret password for our account (I want something easy to remember, like “Netflix”; whereas he favors using the same password he has used for all his accounts for the history of time: 94kr2$mWp*fT45 (yes, that is a fun one to type in at the drive-thru ATM machine).
Once past that hurdle, Netflix wants to know which year I was born (I assume so it can suggest movies that appeal to my contemporaries). Depressingly, 1968 is not an option. I suddenly feel ancient. The Husband laughs, then searches for his much-more-recent year of birth instead. Ha ha, 1969 is not listed either! He gives up and goes to the next set of questions.
Next, we must fill in a simple questionnaire to help Netflix determine our movie preferences so it can offer recommendations that are tailored to our specific likes and dislikes.
This is where things go violently south. The Husband is still at the keyboard, giving 5-star ratings to movies like the instant classic Hot Tub Time Machine and the prim and proper Meet the Fockers while I am poking at him to “go back, go back!” to Shakespeare in Love and give it a 5.
“I’m not giving that a 5!” he says, not even attempting to conceal the contempt in his tone, “That was a stupid movie!” He rolls his eyes, and goes to the next page of choices.
I tug at his sleeve like an impatient preschooler. “You liked Splash—don’t you remember? Hey!” I gasp as he clicks 5s for Caddyshack and Independence Day, “You can’t give everything a 5! The computer will be confused!”
And indeed, the computer is confused by our schizophrenic clicking. Netflix is spitting out movie recommendations with titles like Terminator 8: A Love Connection, Wedding Bells Massacre, and When Harry Met Sally in Outer Space. What kind of stupid movie options are these?
As if that’s not bad enough, The Husband says helpfully, “Oh, I just remembered: we should choose some movies that Tall and Short might like, maybe some animated features?”
Netflix gags and sputters to keep all our choices straight. Apparently, MOV likes action-adventure-cartoon-romance-raunchy-dramas (but not in a foreign language with subtitles, thank God there is one thing we can agree on).
A new message flashes across the screen: “Split Account Option.” Evidently, Netflix has dealt with married couples before.
(“Movies Or Videos”)