Giveaway Getaways?

"You might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb." This was a favorite expression of my grandfather's, and one that's been running through my head a lot lately. If I'm going to employ somewhat sneaky tactics to get free cosmetics or clothes, why not more extravagant items, like...trips to Europe?

For years I've been regretting my lack of foresight in not pursuing travel journalism when I was younger (read: childless), ever since I met a writer who worked for a magazine about the world's best spas. It was this woman's job to travel the globe getting pedicures and seaweed wraps. Where, where did I go wrong?

As a journalist who has covered a fairly wide range of subjects, I occasionally get press releases from completely unexpected places (perhaps PR firms trade contact lists? I don't know.). For example, a few days ago I got an email from an art gallery in, let's say, Amsterdam, inviting critics to review a new exhibit. I'm not an art critic, so I almost deleted it. Then I decided to write back and ask if the gallery would be covering travel expenses for American journalists. (Hung for a sheep as a lamb...)

Turns out the answer was no. But the seed has been planted in my scheming, possibly damaged brain...where can I go, gratis? And how exactly do I pull this one off?

I read yesterday that Bangkok was recently named "Top City" by Travel + Leisure magazine. It seems the capital of Thailand was thrilled with the award, as tourism has been on the decline in recent years due to political unrest.

Bet the Bangkok tourism board (if there is one) is hoping for some more positive press...

Hmmm.

Score!

As Borat would say: "Great success!" One of the cosmetics PR firms I approached this week took the bait, promising to send me several hundred dollars worth of a "revolutionary" product that's been a mainstay in Oscar schwag bags for the past couple of years. Surely this one score will lead to more Oscar-worthy items. (Whatever gets me through the day, okay?)

I'll admit, my post-heist high did fade to reveal a touch of lapsed Catholic guilt. After all, I killed two commandments with one stone: I lied in order to steal. Then I had lunch with a couple of friends from the website where I was most recently employed as an editor/reporter. Weary and exasperated, they told me all about the latest employees to be unceremoniously fired, what sort of financial trouble the company was rumored to be in, and the tantrum thrown by my ex-CEO the previous day (I swear, when that man gets on a rant his eyes go black like the characters in True Blood when they were possessed by Mary Ann). Following that uplifting conversation, I returned home to wage email war with the accounts payable department of a widely read, highly regarded newspaper. Never mind how many years I've freelanced for said publication, they still can't remember to process my invoices. I haven't received a check for over two months, and I write a weekly column.

That's when I started to feel a little less guilty. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? It's clear that no one plays by the rules, which makes it all but impossible to play fair and still stay in the game.

I think...

Decisions, decisions...

This mooch-in-the-making found herself downright flustered when trying to choose which product to procure first. A quick survey of my friends was no help. Their pie-in-the-sky suggestions ("A MacBook Air!" "Get an iPad!") almost exclusively targeted the least press-hungry company in existence. I had to start smaller, but where?

A quick trip to Sephora answered my question. After spending somewhere in the ballpark of $10,000 on a tube of concealer and bottle of hair conditioner, I realized that cosmetics would make the perfect project-launching product, for the following reasons:

1. Cosmetics are overpriced enough for me not to feel too guilty about essentially scamming them for free.

2. They're small and easy to ship. (Years ago, a newspaper assignment required me to have a bunch of kids test out a life-size animatronic pony, that holiday season's hottest toy. Getting the PR company to ship that stinking pony involved military-level strategy; worse, it was such a popular, limited item that I had to send the damn thing back, too. Never mind that the moving, snorting beast made all the kids cry and a friend's dog to bark hysterically during the entire photo shoot.)

With a clear target in sight, my next step was to invent a legit-sounding publication. I can't tell you what I came up with, but my imaginary magazine is sort of along the lines of "Lucky," and I (again, my pseudonym must stay under wraps) am "the new beauty/style editor." Or so I wrote in a slew of introductory emails to PR firms specializing in beauty, fashion and lifestyle clients.

With said correspondences just fired off, I'll be playing the waiting game for the next couple of days...and plotting my next line of attack.

A Wonderful, Awful Idea

It's not like I want to be a criminal. In fact, I'm not even sure that what I'm about to do is a crime...I know there's something not quite right about it, but criminal is such an ugly word. I prefer creative.

As one of the roughly 8 kajillion writer/editors to be recently downsized, I have a problem: How to pay for stuff. (You say you have this problem, too?)

With gainful employment a suddenly elusive prospect and no credit to speak of (really, I refuse to speak of it) my options are limited. Shoplift? Make wealthy friends and sponge off them? Start some sort of pyramid scheme? Last week, I considered formulating an updated version of the scam Lucy and Ethel came up with while trying to finance a trip to Europe, a faux-charity called "The Ladies Overseas Aid." Alas, in the end of the episode it turned out there really was a charity by that name which stepped in and collected all the cash Lucy and Ethel raised raffling off a television set. With my luck, those slapstick 30 minutes would wrap with cops carting me off.

And then...like the Grinch before me: I had an idea. An awful idea. I had a wonderful, awful idea. Working as a journalist, I've been scoring schwag for years, even if most of it was stuff I never wanted in the first place, like the Talking Elmo I had to review for a holiday toy article or the t-shirts with blinking neon lights all over them (I don't know how those people got my address). PR types will give you just about anything if you promise them press in return; sometimes, even the mere suggestion of publicity wins you prizes.

So what if I use my media savvy to acquire things I really want - concert tickets, non-blinking clothes, shoes, gadgets I could otherwise never afford - even if I'm not necessarily going to give said items any actual press? Not that I wouldn't love to write legit reviews all the livelong day, but, as I mentioned before, journo jobs are few and far between and freelance competition is fierce. Truly, I have no choice. I am Jean Valjean, an honest man forced to steal a loaf of bread. I am Robin Hood, taking from the rich to give to the poor (me)! I am Winona Ryder, snatching jewelry from a high-end store to "research a role."

No, forget that last one. Winona Ryder, like me, was deluded, but unlike me, was not broke.

Naturally, to prevent total destruction of my professional reputation, I'll have to adopt a pseudonym and invent a publication. ("The Ladies Overseas Press," perhaps?)

Will my demented plan work? Stay tuned...