The flipside of being spoonfed
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I like soup. Told that I am only allowed to eat one thing for the rest of my life, I would pick soup. Now if you’re wondering what kind of soup, well then I actually don’t know for sure, but it would be some kind of cream soup and would you mind not bogging me down in details – I’m trying to get this train of thought out of the station…?
The challenge I’m presenting here is only indirectly about the soup. It’s really about the sign. But if this was a sign in front of candied yams or Mueslix, then I wouldn’t be writing this, because I don’t care much for either of those. The call to confrontation here is because the sign is in front of soup. And I like soup.
The adjacent graph shows how the price has changed for a can of Campbells tomato soup over the past century and a quarter. For almost ninety years, the cost remained largely the same. One doesn’t have to be a mathematician to note that the slope of the plot increases dramatically, however, from 2005 onward. Today, the cost of a single can is equivalent to the cost of twelve cans in 1975.
The cost of everything goes up. I get that.
But a closer look also shows that in the past year, the rate of increase has been greatest. In 2022, a can of tomato soup cost less than a dollar, and today (in early 2024) it is approximately $1.25. It is easy to mislead people when using percentages with small numbers, but it’s worth noting that tomato soup has increased in price in the short term by more than 25%.
One doesn’t have to look too far to feel the pain of people who have been increasingly challenged by consumer inflation over the past year.
But this isn’t about inflation either.
So why do I seem to be crying in my soup? A price of a can of tomato soup is $1.25 and the larger Chunky varieties shown in the featured image at the top of this page are on sale for $1.49. What is there to complain about?
I already told you – the sign; I’m beginning to think you’re either not paying attention or will be needing some serious hand-holding in this effort.
So let me ask you – when you’ve used the self checkout at the grocery store, which is the correct procedure for after you have scanned your item:
A. Open the item’s packaging and begin to use/consume it immediately.
B. Return the item to your cart such that it can henceforth be scanned in duplicate so that you can be charged for it multiple times.
C. Loudly sing the product jingle or ad slogan.
D. Place the item in the bagging area.
The correct answer is D.
Because you’ve been told by the machine voice at the checkout kiosk to place scanned items in the bagging area over two skillion times, I have to believe you nailed that little pop quiz. It’s almost Pavlovian – scan the SKU, hear the beep, receive the instruction. Repeat. If we were to install identical devices and trash bags in littered environs, I submit that they would be spotless within a week. Hear the beep, hear the voice, place the item in the bag.
Such is what the grocery stores think of us as we pretend to be momentarily self sufficient. Sure there’s the unscannable SKU or price mismatch or the need for an employee to ring up your alcohol, but for the most part it seems we should be capable of self checkout. Might be neat to see a practice self checkout kiosk in a store, but I haven’t spotted one as yet and besides, they need that space for the fortress wall of soda that’s on sale.
So it is suggested to us by the store that we have what it takes to go it alone, yet we are treated like mice in a maze as we do so. We are spoonfed, and this makes me wonder what the stores think of us. And that leads me now finally to the sign.
Turns out, if you answered D to the pop quiz above and think that Campbell’s Chunky Soup is $1.49, you’re only one for two. The store that thinks that you need endless scan-beep-instruction prompts at the self checkout is also the store that must wish that you will not take the time to carefully read the soup sale sign. Here are two parts of that sign, englarged but left in scale to one another.
I’ve done you the favor of centering the small print in the right photo to make it easier to spot. But it’s one-third the size of the white text to the left of it and one tenth the size of the 1 in the main price area. Let’s recreate that proportion below:
I
don’t
think that’s fair.
If you’re scanning the sign as fast as you hope to be able to scan your items at the self checkout, it’s unlikely that you’ll note that the individual price of a can of this soup is actually $2.49, which is regular price. You have to buy five cans and thereby spend $7.50 on soup to receive the one dollar discount. If you put four cans of that soup in your cart and are constantly being reminded to put the items in the bagging area at self checkout, you may not notice that you just spent $10 on full-price soup.
And I think that’s not fair.
It’s deceptive, especially when similarly marked signs are right nearby which identify items that are on sale, individually. Prices on many things in grocery stores have followed the curve shown for soup above. People have been hard hit by inflation, and it’s to be expected that sale items will be sought to help their bottom line. In such circumstances, the use of signage like this preys on people’s shortages of resources, time and attention. It should therefore be expected that people will see this for what they hope it to be.
At a time when food insecurity has so many backpedaling, there ought to be more straightforwardness in advertising.
Here, if you buy two, you pay $3.00. If you buy one, you pay $1.50. The deal is different, but the signage is awfully similar.
In putting this train of thought together, I realize that there are multiple and perhaps divergent tracks that it might run on. I would welcome your thoughts on the matter, as I’m sure perspectives may differ. What we do need to unequivocally agree on is that after you scan your item it should be placed in the bagging area.
