Susie O’Brien breaks up with supermarkets: It’s over, I’m in market for new love

DEAR supermarket, we had a good thing going. But then came Easter eggs in January, long lines and — the final straw — self-service checkouts, writes Susie O’Brien.

Dear supermarket, it’s over. Generic picture

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DEAR Supermarket, I am breaking up with you. For a long time I’ve loved your bright lights, low prices and trolleys with built-in coffee cup holders.

I’ve loved your fluttering yellow Special tags, the promise of Low Prices Always, Prices Dropped and Further Discounts.

I’ve loved the fact that you’re convenient, open all hours and a good source of baked goods that can be roughed up at the edges and passed off as homemade.

For a long time we had a good thing going, you and me.

Those wooden crates in your fruit-and-veg area made me feel as if my fruit was market-day fresh rather than thawed after spending 14 months in deep freeze.

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But it looks so fresh? Generic picture: Getty Images

I believed you when you said your bread was baked “fresh daily” and “baked today, sold today”.

And your piped synthetic chicken aroma at the deli counter made me feel happy and hungry and caused me to buy things I didn’t really want, such as tubs of sweaty, discounted coleslaw.

I spent about $250 a week on you and you alone — and I honestly felt that you loved me back.

But now we are done. I have realised you are no good for me.

It all started with what those in the biz call BOGOF. Buy one, get one free. That was all very well when it meant half-priced Fat Blaster Chocolate Smoothie Weight Loss Shake (spend $9.22, save $9.23).

But then it started getting out of hand. It soon became buy one for $5, two for $7 and three for $10. The problem is that I usually only wanted one. It wasn’t so much that I was rewarded for buying the man in my life Men’s Tradie Fit Flex Trunks (“For the Ultimate Toolbox”), but penalised for buying just one.

And there was the timing thing that saw your store packed full of Easter eggs in January, Christmas in September and Back-to-school before the summer had even started.

It’s 35C outside and there’s Easter eggs on the shelves?

And don’t get me started on those eternal checkout lines. The fact that you were always trying to spend less while getting me to spend more meant the queues were always way too long.

Sadly, though, not long enough to allow me to read New Idea cover to cover, enabling me to work out what Prince Harry and Meghan Markle are saying in their wedding vows and what the Hot Mugshot Guy has been up to.

Then came the final wedge between us: the no-service, oops, I mean self-service checkouts.

First, I embraced this new technological innovation as any new lover would. I dutifully scanned each and every purchase and paid an extra $3.99 a kilo for heirloom tomatoes just to show I was honest even when no one was watching.

But as time went on, things went awry. The machine’s toneless voice kept berating me, telling me there was an “unexpected item in the bagging area”.

What’s so unexpected about bagging groceries I had just scanned?

Then I’d take out my card before it was done and it would beep at me like a foul-mouthed Gordon Ramsay TV show rant.

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“Shut that supermarket down”. Picture: Supplied

And if I got my PIN number wrong, or forgot my receipt or didn’t put in my loyalty card number, the green light of doom could go off.

That would require the sneering intervention of a guy half my age with a lanyard around his neck and black trousers shiny from never having been properly washed.

Buying a kilo of $3.99 plums this week was the last straw. I put them on the scales and then went to plug in the price. To my horror I discovered there were nine varieties of plums listed, all of which were identical.

I broke out in a cold sweat.

What if I got it wrong? What if I paid too much? Or even worse — too little?

Some of the plum categories seemed to have been typed into the machine by a person missing most of their fingers.

What the hell is “Plumqu Garnet” or “Pluotdapl Dandy” anyway?

“This better work, I’m in a hurry”.

Soon other things began to bug me. I found I was repulsed by the sheer weight of choice available to me: did I really need to walk past 15 different brands of toilet paper, 13 types of dairy-free spreads or seven brands of hand-cut oven-baked fries cooked in canola when all I needed was two litres of milk?

Here’s the crux of my complaint, lousy lover. You said the self-service checkout would save time, but it doesn’t. You said I’d save money, but I seem to spend more than ever. You said you’d reward my loyalty with your points scheme, but I’ve spent $13,000 over the past year and all I got was a lousy heat ’n’ go crockpot.

I’m done. I’m going to find satisfaction online instead. So I’m sorry, Supermarket, it’s over.

Just remember, it’s not me, it’s you.

Susie O’Brien is a Herald Sun columnist

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