UPDATE (June 2): I ended up getting my $9 after all. Still irked about the runaround, though.

Peerflix is shuttering their DVD-trading service. In the process, they are shooting themselves in the foot from a public-relations perspective.*

Some time ago, they rejiggered their service so that users would be swapping DVDs on a cash-equivalent basis. If you sent a DVD to someone else, you'd get dollars added to your account. If someone else sent you a DVD, dollars would be deducted from your account. You could even deposit cash in your account if you couldn't build up enough of a balance by offering DVDs for trade.

Then last month, Peerflix announced that they were shuttering the swapping service, and that any users who still had a balance in their Peerflix accounts would need to request a cash-out by April 30, otherwise their balances would be forfeit.

The catch? All cash-out requests are subject to a $10 "processing fee," in spite of the fact that users are being forced into this if they want to see any of their money again.

Well, that's the visible catch. There's a bigger and more invisible catch, too, one that I have experienced first-hand. Every time I've logged into my Peerflix account and requested a cash-out, I've been silently redirected back to my account page. Hmmmmm.

True, I could contact their support department about this. In fact, I did. Twice. The first time, I never received a reply. As the deadline drew closer and I still couldn't get the website to acknowledge my cash-out request, I asked for help again. This time I did get a reply—but it was only to say that I'd e-mailed them from an e-mail address that wasn't associated with any of their users' accounts, and that I should e-mail them from that address for security/privacy reasons.

It's true, I was using a different e-mail address. This is because I keep a personal domain name and I generate a unique e-mail address for every company I do business with. But I do receive e-mail at those addresses, and I did spell out my unique-to-Peerflix address in my e-mail to them. Could it have been that hard to write back to me at that address to confirm it was really me? (Meanwhile, I wrote back to the CSR with a very acerbic reply. I've received a second reply as I've been writing this post, but I'm not in a good frame of mind for it at the moment.)

How much am I out if I don't get my money back? Only $19. Not as big a deal as others; I've heard that some unfortunate souls have sunk a lot more than that. But it's no longer about the money for me; it's the principle of the thing. Everything about my experience to this point suggests that they are handling this the way a U.S. medical insurer handles claims—that is, make a promise to your customer, then when they actually ask you to live up to that promise, find every means at your disposal to weasel out of it and make it look like the customer's fault.

Any other disgruntled Peerflix users out there? Anyone thinking about, or already in the process of, banding together and making a case to the Attorney General of California or setting a class-action suit in motion?

* For evidence of self-foot-shooting, see the string of comments to the article "Peerflix Procrastinating on Customer Refunds" (25 Mar. 2008) on TechCrunch.

P.S. (1:49 p.m.): The e-mail reply was just a robotic confirmation ("Thank you for contacting Peerflix Customer Support. Your inquiry is valuable to us and we will respond to it within 48 hours. Have a great day!"). Wonderful. But, paradoxically, easier on my blood pressure.

Tags: bad business, caveat emptor, peerflix, trading