About two years ago, my local Colesworth made me “shopper of the week” and comped me everything in my basket – $106 worth of groceries – in a spectacular, unprecedented, and tragically since-unrepeated act of corporate largesse.
A cynic might have found the timing suspicious, given the “award” was bestowed on me in a whisper at the self-checkout, three days after the manager made the critical mistake of soliciting my feedback about the store’s new reno in front of a bunch of besuited muckety-mucks from Colesworth HQ.
I was reflecting on that experience in the very same outlet yesterday when I had an epiphany: since then, the supermarket, with its temperamental trolleys, cramped self-checkout area and security cameras that make everyone look like a cartoon villain, has somehow morphed into my toxic boyfriend. I don’t like it, I don’t trust it, I don’t believe a word it says.
And in the interests of owning my part in our limping dog of a relationship, let me be clear: I’m the clueless girlfriend who keeps returning, gamely hoping that something will change. No one is forcing me to shop there.
Another shocking truth: Colesworth itself doesn’t want me around. It keeps sending me emails, incentivising me to switch to online shopping, but my penchant for self-sabotage and the increasingly poisonous nature of our relationship means I will go out of my way to avoid doing anything it asks of me. Also, the last time I tried online shopping, I got a range of weird product substitutions that languished in the pantry for three years and eventually became infested with weevils.
Like all good toxic boyfriends, Colesworth promises the earth and delivers a clump of mud. Items sold at half price that aren’t half price at all. Meat trays marked “while stocks last” when there’s 30 on the shelf, and the best before date is tomorrow’s. Product lines described as “autumn specials”, which leave you feeling faintly gaslit as you speculate about what loading they’re planning to add to their “winter specials”.
Tempting though it is to keep the blowtorch trained firmly and solely on the major supermarkets, the situation is a microcosm of a broader malaise that’s gradually crept across the Australian retail scene.
While Coles spent a week in court last month duking it out with the ACCC over allegations it deliberately misled shoppers on pricing (and Woolworths faces similar legal action brought by the consumer group in April), electronics behemoth JB Hi-Fi was this week revealed to be facing a huge class action later this year, following claims it sold customers “worthless” extended warranties.
Not every example of potential retail grift comes tissue-wrapped and bagged up in a legal cause of action. In recent years, even the shopaholic’s faithful standby – the department store clearance rack, aka the last-chance saloon for every ugly, ill-conceived, poorly constructed, 1980s-inspired, one-shouldered, D-grade celebrity-endorsed dust-rag-in-waiting – has been given the kiss of life, rolled out with renewed vigour at marquee sales dates. But even this joy for the bargain hunter has become tainted. In the lead-up to the November Black Friday sales last year, the ACCC warned that it had in its crosshairs retailers who were targeting shoppers with, among other things, false “store-wide” claims, and discounts that actually amounted to the square root of nothing.
These days we have price tracker technology from the likes of Google, which enables us to monitor an item’s price history. This makes it more obvious when retailers pull the ole 50 per cent discount on a product that was marked up by 80 per cent before being dropped by 10 per cent and oh-look-a-giant-pair-of-red-hands-and-a-cameo-by-Curtis Stone trick.
This online technology works if you’re prepared to ruthlessly hunt down the best deal on a pair of recently discontinued Sass & Bide hotpants, but if you’re flinging a week’s worth of groceries into whichever was the least-worst shopping trolley on offer, you’re probably not going to have the bandwidth to price-stalk a tin of Milo, a sack of dog food, and a rapidly warming selection of frozen food items.
So, what is the hapless consumer to do, other than submit to Colesworth, her favourite toxic boyfriend? Periodically he apologises for his lousy behaviour, so maybe he’s changed, you guys. And if not, you could console yourself with a spot of comfort eating. The cookie dough ice cream is currently on special. Yours for the bargain price of 75 per cent more than you paid a week ago.
Michelle Cazzulino is a Sydney writer.
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