The ramifications of the rampant American consumer in and/or about places of popular commerce (specifically, WalMart) is deeply troubling. Look at Europe. They don’t have WalMart there. How do they get great prices at great values?
Actually, that title and intro was just to get Staples to click the link. Bwahaha! Fail. 😉
I made my first impluse buy today. At least, the first one I can recall not deeply pondering or scratching down on a list.
We were in WalMart filing through the aisles while picking up various items which seemed useful for surviving dead week. My definition of useful appeared to differ somewhat from that of my companions, so our paths parted for a duration of five minutes. I was interested in not carving a path of terror and destruction through my classes. My roommate was interested in how much caffine one could legally consume in a week.
As I returned from the hygene department clutching a bar of deodorant, my gaze fell into the cart. It appeared that at the price of five dollars, once could obtain a large plastic jug filled to the brim with dill pickles in an acidic brime. Someone, not realizing my hidden weakness, had placed it there in jest. At once, I was filled with desire. I really wanted a picke. It had been months, nay, years of trudging through the wearly desert from which there grow no pickles.
Editors note: It has since occoured to me that I consume sliced pickles in sandwiches made in the cafeteria on a fairly regular basis. As it has already been established many times over the years that I am insane, I don’t see how that makes any difference. Pickles in sandwiches are not the same thing as whole, jucy, messy pickles from a jar. They just aren’t. Really.
Being the frugal shopper that I am, it was mere seconds before I realized that higher quality pickles could be obtained in bulk via the fine supplyer Mt. Olive. Not only that, but they also came cheaper and in a nifty glass jar. Ultimately however, it was clear that it would not be healthy to consume that many pickles in a week. It was also clear that my companions did not care for whole dill pickles and would not join me in my vegtable eating ritual every day for the rest of the semester.
My hand was between a rock, and a hard place. Specifically, a place with no pickles. At 4 more cents per oz, I opted for a smaller jar. The fruit, nay, vegtables of my non-labor now reside happily within my refrigerator.