We
are all familiar with the colloquialism “a penny saved is a penny earned.” Rarely is a phrase so commonly accepted so
comically incorrect in both economic and practical terms. This week, Borders Books & Music eases itself
into the blackness of oblivion like the Titanic, equally doomed by arrogance,
with e-readers serving as the fateful iceberg whose magnitude caught the
unsinkable giant unprepared. Borders
will always hold a special place in my heart, being the site of my first date
in high school (yes, I am dork of truly epic proportions). However, its demise, based on the premise of
saving pennies, ought to represent a veritable panacea for my wallet. After all, with everything 70-90% off, I can
save a truly prodigious sum of money!
As
I walked amongst the barren wooden shelves, searching for anything redeemable
to justify my schlepping out to the store, I found myself making purchases that
I would otherwise be loathe to consider.
While these selections were undeniably cheap, the fact remains that at
full price, I would have been as likely to purchase them as a do-it-yourself
root canal kit. When one walks into the
supermarket with a hankering for tortilla chips, then discovers that a coveted
brand is on sale, thus saving money, those pennies are “earned.” When my mother in her unflappable dedication
to the lost art of coupon-clipping, times her purchases of those items she
frequently selects to ensure that a discount is handy, she does, in economic
terms “earn” money for her diligence. However, when I locate a Mediterranean
cookbook at Borders now priced south of $4, I achieve several objectives:
earning brownie points with my fiancée, increasing the probability that some of
the delicious recipes contained therein will make their way into my stomach at
dinner, and concluding the socially awkward scenario in which a disheveled
twenty-seven year old scours the nondescript set of remaining cookbooks among
the grandmothers eager to enhance their culinary repertoire…but I do not “earn”
money.
If
pennies saved were somehow equivalent to pennies earned, then I could saunter
into a closeout sale, max out my credit card, “save” copious sums of money, and
exit with a small fortune. However, in
my experience, as is the case with casinos, the only method for exiting with a
small fortune in this manner is to enter with a large one.
There
is no need for me to torture you with the countless economic paradoxes in which
human beings make irrational decisions.
I believe the fame and fortune of Paris Hilton and “The Situation”
confirm the insanity of our species well enough by themselves. Yet, despite the knowledge of my own somewhat
flawed decision process, when I walked to the register with my hands full of
merchandise, then departed after dispensing a sum that a single piece of paper
with Andrew Jackson’s face would cover, I felt “rich.” I felt as though my ability to remain
fiscally solvent while this massive corporate empire could not rendered me
powerful – justifying my bounty like some Serengeti quadruped caught and eaten
by the fittest hunter. I then entered my
11-year-old Volvo, and returned to my graduate student apartment on the edge of
town.
Sometimes
I find myself pondering just how far this particular phenomenon extends. What will Americans purchase, so long as they
are convinced they are getting a discount?
Then I realize that Chia Pets, Pet Rocks, RC Cola, Taco Bell, and
Walmart lingerie are all decidedly profitable products. Would Americans purchase discounted dog feces
at slashed price for a limited time only?
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