Even though my friends make fun of me for shopping fairly often at one of the familiar big box stores in our neighborhood, I have no plans to stop.
Yes, there are definitely some differences between it and the always welcoming Safeway a mile or so from my house. But that doesn’t bother me.
Even though the demographics may be a bit different between the two — and to me, interestingly so — I find the big box store to have some other distinct advantages.
Price, of course, is one. I can roam up and down the aisles looking for nothing in particular until I spot something we use regularly that’s on markdown, and snag two or three of those just to have them when the current stock runs out.
Then there’s the incredible range of brands. I spotted some 20-ounce bottles of Musselman’s apple butter, a brand I don’t remember seeing often at any other store, for $2.43.
Be advised, though … don’t go looking for it because it may be at a different price or gone altogether, one of the other consistent inconsistencies I’ve learned to expect that’s common with big-box shopping. In other words, if you find something you think you may like or already do, load up your cart with it.
I do that and try to keep an eye out as the cupboard supply dwindles, just in case it will still be on the store shelf if I go back for more.
Which, by the way, is a definite maybe. I bought a can of men’s hairspray that I hadn’t used before at a price I thought was likely lower than elsewhere, only to find it had disappeared from the shelves when I went back for more a few weeks later. Oh, well…
So that’s a sampling of what I tell my friends when they harass me about my shopping habits. But, as I already said, I don’t have any plans to stop. At least for now.
There is one issue I avoided mentioning.
Despite the cost saving, the range of selection, the experience of mingling with other economic and cultural demographics, there’s something I’ve become increasingly curious about.
And that’s the seemingly innocuous experience we’ve had when our shopping is done, we’ve paid at the register and we’re headed to the exit. That’s where a store checker awaits, that person’s exclusive job to make sure that the contents of the exiting cart are reflected in the receipt held by the departing customer.
I get it.
But never once has the checker rummaged through my cart or asked for my receipt. My friends tell me it’s because of profiling. I guess I’m supposed to appreciate the fact that I apparently don’t look like a thief, but to be honest (no pun intended) I’d prefer to be treated like everyone else. Not judged by what I’m wearing, who I’m with, what’s in my cart — or, if this is part of the exit checklist, my skin color.
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