SAN FRANCISCO -- During a visit to her gym last month, Jeanette Jones was pulled aside by a staffer who knew Ms. Jones was recently laid off from her investment-banking job. "Talk to the manager," the employee whispered to Ms. Jones. "There's a special rate for people like you."

When Ms. Jones confessed to the gym manager that she was temporarily unemployed, he quietly confirmed that the gym had an exclusive rate for jobless members. Ms. Jones now pays $25 a month to use the treadmill and other facilities, down from the $70 a month she paid while working. "It's pretty weird," says Ms. Jones, "but why not use it?"

Indeed, thousands of laid-off white-collar workers are enjoying a yuppie brand of charity. In little acts of kindness, local fitness centers, yoga teachers, professional associations and many others are coming up with laid-off discounts so that the jobless can continue their favorite hobbies and activities.

In Concord, Mass., a software concern named SolidWorks Corp. in March began offering unemployed design engineers six months of free access to its software, as well as a discount for training on the product. The Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers, in New York, says more of its constituents have this year taken advantage of the 50% markdown it gives jobless members on its $143 annual dues. Public Storage Inc., a moving and storage company in Glendale, Calif., earlier this year started offering a $50 moving discount to members of an association of laid-off professionals.

Such benevolence has become particularly common in San Francisco Bay area -- which includes hard-hit Silicon Valley -- where unemployment climbed to 6.1% in October. That compares with a rate of 5.3% nationwide that same month.

The exclusive discounts aren't motivated entirely by altruism. Gyms and networking associations, among other white-collar bastions, are hurting so badly for business in the economic downturn that many are willing to extend steep concessions to keep customers and attract new ones. Often, the special rates are doled out case-by-case. And many of the discounts are frequently cloaked in flowery terms, such as "alumni rates," so that word about them will only spread so far.

"We've been very discreet in doing this," confides Jill Kinney, a founder of Club One Inc., which runs a chain of gyms in San Francisco that quietly began offering its own alumni rate last year. The price cut of about 50% for three months has helped the club retain some 15% of those jobless members who had called to terminate their membership, says Ms. Kinney. But, she adds quickly, "we don't want 70,000 of our members to all call and say, 'We lost our jobs.' "

Some out-of-work professionals have become especially adept at taking advantage of unemployment specials. Ellen Luttrell of Menlo Park, Calif., voluntarily left her job as a marketing consultant in late 2000 to do freelance work, but she is now looking for a full-time job. She recently heard from a friend that AT&T Wireless was offering free cellphones to certain customers to keep them from ending their phone service. Ms. Luttrell quickly called the wireless carrier and proclaimed: "I'm unemployed. Make me happy."

Over the course of an hour and a half, Ms. Luttrell haggled and argued as she was switched to eight different AT&T Wireless representatives. Playing the sympathy card ultimately worked: In the end, she says she acquired a free cellphone and more than $400 in service credits.

The ploy succeeded so well that Ms. Luttrell began announcing she was jobless at almost every commercial juncture. When she sent in her car to be checked recently, her out-of-work lament got the maintenance bill reduced to $25 from $55. And when shopping at San Francisco's Sports Basement store several months ago, the saleswoman gave Ms. Luttrell a 20% discount on a pair of $130 shoes. "If you don't ask, you're not going to get," says the 39-year-old Ms. Luttrell.

A spokeswoman for Sports Basement says the discount was a one-off. An AT&T Wireless spokesman says getting a free phone was also a unique case because there "were probably some special circumstances involved."

Often, the exclusive rates are proffered by those who have been laid off themselves. Tom Jensen, 55, who was cut from his project-manager position at a computer maker in June 2001, recently advertised guitar lessons he was offering on a San Francisco Internet site. In the posting, Mr. Jensen declared he was extending a "layoff special." "Special price if you have been laid off and you are looking in this awful job market," he wrote. "Ask for details."

Under the "special," Mr. Jensen, who teaches in Palo Alto, Calif., charges $20 to $25 an hour instead of his $35-an-hour rate for working folk. "Since I was laid off myself and have been frustrated with the job search, I have a lot of sympathy for people who are out of work," says Mr. Jensen, who now has three students, two of whom are jobless.

Jason Revere, a part-time yoga instructor who was laid off from his full-time job at an Internet company in October, also charges a sliding scale for the private yoga classes he holds at his San Francisco studio. Mr. Revere, 25, says he has made a habit of asking if a potential student is working. If the student is unemployed, he negotiates his rate downward until the person is comfortable with the fee.

Mr. Revere currently has three students. Two are employed and fork over about $50 an hour. The other, who isn't working, shells out $20 an hour. Don't such disparities madden those who are paying more? "I don't tell my clients what I'm charging other people," Mr. Revere says.

Not all laid-off professionals can bring themselves to press for charitable rates. Diana Richomme of San Jose, Calif., was terminated from a software concern in mid-2001. She says the layoff is a "taboo" subject for her. "I would never go into a restaurant or store and say I've been laid off," says Ms. Richomme, 39, who is looking for contract work and is running two Web sites in her spare time. "I'd much rather people not feel bad -- after all, it's not their fault."

Indeed, asking for the discounts sometimes can be embarrassing, especially when proof of the layoff is required. SolidWorks, for one, asks unemployed engineers who want its free-software offer to show a termination letter or a benefits slip. Club One says it typically checks its records to figure out where a member was employed -- and whether or not there have been pink slips handed out at that company -- before approving an alumni rate.

Being aggressive doesn't always win a discount. Suzie Nylund, laid off from a San Francisco management-consulting firm in June 2001, downgraded her cellphone service to a cheaper plan several months ago. "I told them I was laid off, hoping they would feel bad and give me a better deal," she says. But despite her best efforts, Ms. Nylund says, "they just didn't budge."