For starters, I parked a block away. Second, I wore a hat and sunglasses, with my collar pulled up, in case someone recognized me.
Third, I brought cash, lots of it, so there would be no paper trail.
I’d never been to one of “those” stores before, not even in college. There had been something taboo about those stores, something unseemly and wrong.
Taking a glance around, I stepped inside the door.
“Good morning, sir!” the impossibly friendly cashier bellowed. “Welcome to Happy Family General 95-Cent Warehouse Store! Would you like a cart?”
“Uh, no, I’m just looking.”
“Would you like help finding anything?”
“No, just looking.”
“Are you familiar with our stores?”
“No, looking!” I spat out emphatically. What’s with the third degree? Why was she grilling me?
Ducking behind the first aisle, I scanned the shelves, to discover what sort of illicit “merchandise” was there.
Hmm, boxes of generic cereal, with names like “Frootie Hoops” “Sugar Nuggets” and “Kornie Klusters.” Cans of condensed soup with a suspicious red-and-white label and the name “Kamm Bowls.” A spectrum of nonspecific beverages in 5-liter bottles, with handgrips.
Then, on the next shelf, were rows and rows of snack cakes, chocolate ones, vanilla ones, coconut ones, with the brand name “Li’l Beckee.”
Cheap knockoffs of Little Debbie? Was that possible?
I began to realize that the whole store was an affront to the American economic system. Here, among these sordid displays, products were sold for pennies on the dollar and WITHOUT BRAND NAMES. This ran counter to my country’s philosophy, which for the past 50 years had touted brand loyalty, even over love of family.
Here was “Clearex” bleach for 80 cents a bottle. “Krappt” brand macaroni and “cheazz.” Anything that could be preserved for long shelf life was here, usually with brand names from some alternate universe.
To be fair, there was meat available, in tin cans. There was milk, both fresh and powdered.
Still, among the clientele, I saw an old woman obviously on a fixed income. A divorced father picking up treats for his kids. A family on a budget. They all had to shop here. It was the only way to get by.
This led me to a startling conclusion: Most of what I needed could be bought here for half off or more. Some of it might not be as good as its “famous” progenitor, but for my uses, it would do just fine.
And I’d save a bundle.
I brought my items to the checkout proudly. I stood in line without shame, my sunglasses and hat discarded, others looking directly at me. I didn’t care. I was saving money.
As the cashier rang up the purchases, she chirped, “You know, if you give us your name and e-mail, we can send you news about unadvertised specials.”
“That would be great!” I said with a smile.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Scott Underwood.”
Contact Rodney Richey, 640-4861, rodney.richey@heraldbulletin.com. But wait! There’s more!
