They know how to sell us stuff we neither want nor need, but we buy anyway. It’s there, all spread out for us like a garden of delights. The trap is set. We have to pass by it. Or, worse, stand next to it while waiting our turn.
You probably know I’m talking about check-out lanes at just about any store. The disease they’ve learned to profit from is “impulse buying.” It happens so easily, attracts us so effortlessly.
Recently I was standing in line at Ace Hardware. I held a 2-pack of halogen light bulbs and a jar of gopher and mole poison pellets, “Guaranteed to rid my yard” of these burrowing creatures. Two people stood in front of me, so I kept my proper social distance. Next to me was an assortment of hard and soft candy in bars and bags, salty snacks, colorful bracelets, action figures with little or no action, small plastic animals, insulated cups…the variety was impressive. Like a mini-Woolworth’s. Remember, this was a hardware store. Nails and screws and pliers I would have understood, but this was far out of the category of hardware.I’ve got to confess here. I am a sucker for temptation, a victim of suggestion, a consumer of the unnecessary. It usually manifests itself with a sudden need for sugar or salt or something crunchy or chewy. Even an occasional gadget that I didn’t realize how badly I needed it until I saw it was “New, Tested, Guaranteed, and Essential.” Guaranteed for what, it didn’t say. Those people have my number.
So I bought a bag of licorice tidbits at Ace, “soft, chewy, delicious.” They were made in New Zealand or somewhere not usually associated with licorice. Switzer’s I would’ve understood. I ate three pieces in the car, then pitched the bag into the trash can when I got home. I probably should have given them to the gophers and moles in my yard. That would have speeded them along to a soft, chewy death.
The good people who design floor plans for retail stores most certainly keep a psychiatrist or two on staff. They have read us like a book, know what our weak spots are, and probably have a list of categories with projections of sales and inventory turnover. These are most certainly connected to the type of retail outlet in which they’ve been installed. Ace Hardware has different customer profiles from Best Buy, which are different from Schnuck’s and Walgreen’s and Bed, Bath and Beyond. Maybe those impulse items are what “Beyond” means. Further, they all seem to feature a wide variety of gum. Ever notice that? Every configuration of gum is displayed in this impulse purgatory. If you need to chew, you’ll find it here.
Possibly the most fascinating category for me is the magazines. I have learned things about public figures I never see in the New York Times or Wall Street Journal. Just put me in a slow-moving line at checkout and I’ll be up-to-date on who’s getting a divorce or has a drug problem or is pregnant or has been messing around. I’m tired of reading about Prince Harry and Meghan and George Clooney and J. Lo and Ben and even Elvis. People I’ve never heard of fascinate me. Usually young celebrities who have gone viral for some unbelievable reason. It’s really hard not to read this stuff. Maybe that’s part of the reason reality TV shows are so popular. And I would know nothing about them if it weren’t for their accessibility at a vulnerable time. We’ve become a TikTok nation.
Impulse purchases are not relegated to just the checkout line, of course. If you go food shopping without a carved-in-stone shopping list, you’re guaranteed to put a few extra items in your cart. Recently I went to get a half-gallon of 2% milk. I got it, along with a half-gallon of Oatmeal milk (“Made with organic oats”) and a half-gallon of chocolate milk (“Omega-3 Supports Brain Health”). That sounded pretty good, but there’s no way I can drink them all before they expire. I will finish the chocolate milk however.
This column was published in the current issue of County Living Magazine (Fall 2021)