Coupons are the Bane of My Existence

When I buy groceries all I want to do is get to the store, get what I need, and get out. Over the past ten years it has transgressed from a simple errand to a daunting and cumbersome task - despite its simplistic nature. The amount I spend on groceries has also skyrocketed by about 20%. In my early twenties I roomed with my brother who rented a house in Rochester, New Hampshire. I had gotten out of a bad relationship, which left me with some debt, so I had to shop minimally in order to get my bills paid. I did so successfully. I was working in retail, ironically at a grocery store, and made a whopping $8.50 an hour. Every penny in my weekly paycheck was coveted and scrutinized.

For one year, my diet was as follows:

Breakfast: Apple and an English muffin
Lunch: Small garden salad. I would also buy a $0.35 soda in the break room. Alternately, I sometimes made a sandwich
Dinner: Chicken breast and Ramen Noodle

My brother supplied the toilet paper and cleaning supplies so long as I cleaned. Every few months I restocked the cereal, pasta, popcorn, jelly, oil, vinegar and other miscellaneous items, such as pickles, ground beef, and beer. I consumed these items sparingly, regarding them as little delicacies too extraordinary to enjoy with any sort of regularity. I dreaded the weeks where I had to restock on cat food, kitty litter and tampons because they were necessities outside my regular grocery list and always exceeded my $25 weekly budget. There were some weeks when I would have to dip into my grocery budget to pay off other bills and I would go without eating altogether for a couple days. If I was hungry to the point of dizziness, I would inconspicuously take a few cents from the take-a-penny, leave-a-penny jar at work to buy a package of Ramen Noodles or a banana. Though I frequently walked the isles at work that were jam-packed with food so intangible to me it never once crossed my mind to steal. Sometimes I would ask my brother, who was a restaurant cook, to bring home some leftovers. He ate for free and seldom shopped for groceries, so I couldn't nibble on something he had stashed in the cupboards. The Buffalo wings, little pizzas, stuffed ravioli, meatballs and any other treat he brought home broke my monotonous diet and I gorged myself on the free food selfishly and without manners.

About once a week I was guaranteed a free meal when my husband (then boyfriend) took me out to dinner. I ordered big portions and brought home the rest to eat at work the next day so my coworkers could see the appetizing restaurant entree I was eating and perhaps not assume I was living so close to poverty. I felt ashamed to be so poor. I didn't want people to think I was irresponsible. I thought I hid my poverty well, but every so often one of my coworkers would make an observation.

"Salad again, Alyson?"
"You live in those corduroys, don't you, Alyson?"
"Don't you own any other shoes, Alyson?"

To make ends meet, I bought store-brand products and on-sale items. I bought my deli meats and cheeses by the slice, not the pound. I bought shampoo, conditioner and and body wash at $1.00 each and showered every other day to make them last twice as long. I practiced every technique known to man in order to live within my means, but I never once used coupons. Coupons are the bane of my existence.

The corporate CEO's of Kraft, General Mills, Pepsi-Cola, Bounty, and Lysol (to name a few) jet around in their luxury cars, earn exorbitant salaries and pay their workers (and sub-workers, like me, a grocery store cashier who sold their products to consumers) pathetic wages. I can see them now, their fat asses sitting in posh burgundy leather seats around a mahogany table in some smokey boardroom. I can see their bloated white faces wrinkling with delight, a stubby brown cigar smoldering from their lips, as they laugh over the thought of what ridiculous hoops consumers might jump through just to save a few cents.

"Let's print coupons in the paper! That way our consumers can spend their Sundays clipping and organizing. Can't you just see them in the isles fumbling through their stack of coupons trying to find one that applies to the product they want to buy?"

"Don't forget to put an expiration date on the coupon. Oh, wouldn't you love to see the disappointment on their faces when they go to use the coupon only to discover it has expired? What are they going to do, really? They aren't going to put it back on the shelf. After all, they're only saving $0.40."

"Let's have them buy in bulk! They'll save $1.00 --when they buy six or more of the item! They may only need one or two, but I'm sure they'll spend three times as much to save a buck."

"Gentlemen, I have the perfect idea...Rebates! Who's going to fill out the rebate form, anyway? If anyone does, we just won't send the check. If they complain, we'll simply deny we received the paperwork."

Fuck you!
Lower the prices!

I think I'm making a statement by not using coupons, but I'm sure those bastard moguls are equally as happy when I pay for their products in their over-priced fullness as a feeble form of protest.