Liberty
and Boogers
One day you will see me firmly, but politely chanting, “No nonononono!” My
fingers will be lodged in my nose with an air of confidence. And the cashier
will give me a knowing wink. She doesn’t even have to ask the question.
But that’s the future. Today I’m feeling…hassled.
Can’t I just buy stuff without being hassled? It doesn’t matter what I bring
to
the counter, the person behind the register turns our simple transaction into
a complicated ritual from the bowels of consumer Hell. No, I don’t want to
supersize it. I’m not giving you my zip code, and I’m not going to make a
donation to your fund for crippled dolphins with cancer.
I just want to hand over my money and walk away with my stuff. Is that too
much to ask? Apparently so. Like the huge, pendulous goiter swinging beneath
Uncle Ernie’s neck, retail transactions have a big chunk of embarrassing
ugliness attached. The abomination comes in two forms: the UPSELL and the
INVESTIGATION.
The UPSELL - the top-shelf liquor, the extended warranty, the extra dollop
of
crap. This is nothing new; we’ve been getting it our whole lives. We all
know
that for just twenty-five cents more, we can have the large Pepsi. What they
don’t tell us is that for just twenty-five cents LESS you won’t have to get
up
to take a leak in the middle of the movie.
But now the UPSELL is completely out of hand. I can’t buy a damned thing
without being pitched the extended warranty, jumbo size, and combo meal
deal. Christ, just sell me the damn condoms and let me get out of here.
And then there is the CHARITY UPSELL – the pious second cousin of the
UPSELL. This beast usually surfaces around the holidays. The stores try to
squeeze another few bucks out of you to donate to charity. Try to buy your
groceries and you get, “Would you like to cure cancer with that?” Jesus,
if I wanted to fight cancer, would I buy a bag full of beer and red meat?
Sure the UPSELL is aggravating, but it’s not totally out of bounds. The
store figures that you are already buying stuff, maybe you’d like some
more stuff. Who knows, maybe some people actually need to be reminded
that they can add chips and a drink for only 99 cents. I can live with the
UPSELL. But I will not tolerate the INVESTIGATION.
I went to buy a slice of pizza, (PIZZA mind you) and the store wanted my
phone number. What the fuck for? You want to call me later to discuss
my pizza buying experience? Maybe give me a ring in a couple of weeks
to tell me that you just got some new pepperoni in and you thought it
would be perfect for me? Look, I don’t want to deal with pizza-vendors
outside of the pizzeria. Take my money, give me a slice and piss off.
Thank you very much.
It’s not just the pizza mongers who are guilty. Everybody does it now. I
tried
to buy a magazine today and the cashier wanted my email address. My email
address?! I looked him right in the eye and told him, “Don’t hide behind
your
computer. Be a man and ask me out face to face.”
He stammered something about a newsletter and handed me my change. A
NEWSLETTER?! Do I need to be kept abreast in exciting developments in the
world of monthly periodicals? Jesus, sell me my issue of Juggs and then leave
me alone. And no, I do not want to buy a commemorative bookmark with that.
But you know what sucks even harder than being pitched all this extra crap?
Pitching it. The poor bastards behind the cash registers are the real victims
here. They know that if they don’t upsell and investigate with every ring
of
the register, they could lose their jobs. The soul-sucking corporate masters
make sure of it. So time and time again, they ask if you want fries with
that.
And an increasingly annoyed public heaps abuse on them for doing so.
People, I have a plan. If we all get together on this, it will work. We
need a
secret sign, a password, SOMETHING to tip off the cashier that we know
what we want, and they don’t need to pitch us anything else. This way, we
(the intelligent, fed-up consumers) can buy our crap in peace, and they (the
hard-working cashiers) can know that we aren’t going to tattle to their CEO.
From now on, whenever you buy something, before the poor sap behind the
counter can even open his mouth, belt out the secret password –
“nonononononononono.” This should be accompanied by our secret hand-
signal - both index fingers jammed deep into our nostrils.
Listen, retail-drones. When someone approaches your station and flashes
the secret sign and belts out our password, just take their order. Maybe
flash a wink and a knowing grin. But take the order and don’t launch into
the UPSELL or INVESTIGATION. If your boss catches you and tries to give
you a ration of crap, you have the ultimate defense.
“Boss, the guy was a nut. He had his fingers in his nose, and was all
‘nonononononononono.’ How the Hell am I supposed to deal with that?
We’re lucky he didn’t have a gun or a cricket-bat or something.”
It will work. I know it will. We need to stick together, side by side; an
army
of angry consumers with our fingers proudly up our noses , our battlecry
erupting from our strange, nasally voices in unison, “Nononononono!”
Try it now, wherever you are! Feels good doesn’t it? It feels like
liberty…and boogers.