My supermarket made me ‘shopper of the week’. I don’t believe a word it says any more
About two years ago, my local Colesworth made me “shopper of the week” and billed me for everything in my cart ($106 worth of purchases) in an act of corporate generosity that was spectacular, unprecedented, and tragically unrepeatable since.
A cynic might have found the timing suspicious, given that the “reward” was whispered to me at self-checkout three days after the manager made the critical mistake of asking for my feedback on the store’s new reno in front of a bunch of suit-clad goons from Colesworth HQ.
I was reflecting on this experience at the same store yesterday and had an epiphany: Since then, the supermarket has somehow become my toxic boyfriend, with its grumpy carts, cramped self-checkout area, and security cameras that make everyone look like a cartoon villain. I don’t like it, I don’t trust it, I don’t believe a word he says.
And to own up to my part in our limping dog relationship, let me be clear: I’m an oblivious girlfriend who keeps coming back, hoping things will change. Nobody forces me to shop there.
Another shocking fact: Colesworth himself doesn’t want me around. He emails me constantly, encouraging me to switch to online shopping, but my tendency to self-sabotage and the increasingly toxic nature of our relationship means I’ll go out of my way to avoid doing anything he asks of me. Plus, the last time I tried online shopping, I was met with a series of strange produce alterations that languished in the pantry for three years and eventually ended up infested with bugs.
Like all good, toxic boyfriends, Colesworth promises the world and delivers a pile of mud. Products that are sold at half price but are not even half price. When there are 30 on the shelf and the best-before date is tomorrow, the meat trays are marked “while supplies last.” Product lines described as “fall specials” that leave you feeling slightly pumped as you speculate about how much they plan to load up on “winter specials.”
While it may be tempting to aim the blowtorch hard and only at major supermarkets, this is a microcosm of a wider malaise slowly spreading across the Australian retail scene.
While Coles spent a week in court last month battling the ACCC over claims it deliberately misled consumers about pricing (and Woolworths faced similar legal action from the consumer group in April), it emerged electronics giant JB Hi-Fi was facing a huge threat this week. class action later this yearfollowing allegations it sold customers “worthless” extended warranties.
Not every example of potential retail fraud is wrapped in tissue paper and packaged as a legal cause of action. In recent years, even the staunch support of shopaholics — the department store discount rack, aka every ugly, poorly designed, poorly constructed, 1980s-inspired, one-shouldered, D-grade celebrity-approved last-chance lounge for the waiting duster — has been given the kiss of life, rolled out with renewed vigor on key sale dates. But even this bargain hunter’s joy was tarnished. As we approached Black Friday sales in November last year, ACCC warned Among other things, it’s in the crosshairs of retailers who target shoppers with bogus “storewide” claims and discounts that don’t actually amount to the square root of anything.
These days, we have price tracking technology from brands like Google that allows us to track the price history of a product. This is made even more apparent when retailers offer a 50 percent discount on an item priced at 80 percent and discounted 10 percent, and look at Curtis Stone’s giant pair of red hands and a miniature number.
This online technology works if you’re prepared to relentlessly search for the best deal on a pair of recently discontinued Sass & Bide hot pants, but if you’re throwing a week’s worth of groceries into the least bad shopping trolley on offer, you probably won’t have the bandwidth to keep track of prices on a can of Milo’s, a bag of dog food, and quickly warming frozen food items.
So what can the hapless consumer do but submit to her favorite toxic boyfriend, Colesworth? He periodically apologizes for his bad behavior, so maybe he’s changed, guys. And if not, you can console yourself with a casual dining spot. Cookie dough ice cream is special right now. Yours at a discounted price of 75 percent more than what you paid a week ago.
Michelle Cazzulino is a writer from Sydney.
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