Victory Is Mine But There's Enough to Go Around

Stalking savings that hide in plain sight.

Oil of Olay Body Lotion. I didn’t know such a thing existed, didn’t know Oil of Olay made creams in quantities that large. An entire body’s worth. Those little pots with screw on lids? It turns out they’re only the most famous. You could bathe in Oil of Olay if you chose. Drink it. What’s it cost, I wondered, a billion dollars?

Even in small quantities Oil of Olay is expensive. It must be the olay. I hope it’s not harmed in the taking of its oil. But there it was, body lotion, sitting suspiciously on an end cap, the real estate in the grocery store that says, Take me, Take me, I’m on sale. Maybe it’s an advertised weekly special. Maybe it’s a product the store is clearing out. Whatever the reason it’s begging for a look.

In the case of the Oil of Olay the sign said, “Regular price $15.99.” Not a billion. Things were off to a good start. It had my attention. But $15.99 was still outside my snack bracket. However, the sign then went on to say “Sale price $7.99.” In the space of an instant I’d gone from not knowing Oil of Olay made body lotion and thinking it was beyond my reach to realizing I could afford my very own bottle if I wanted. I too could own Oil of Olay. On the spot I wanted as many bottles as I could carry. Whether I used it this year or next odds were good I’d still have skin and it would still need moisturizing and the cream wouldn’t go bad and my skin and I would both be happier and somehow healthier knowing I’d paid only half price. 

Eyes peeled. That’s the way to navigate the grocery store. Go off the beaten track, take the aisle less travelled. Be alert. I’d been in sandwich meats moments earlier and left feeling dejected because my meat of choice, turkey breast, was full price, not one brand I liked on sale. I could have gone for the no name stuff, always cheaper, but I have standards. I want the best. For less. It takes all the fun out of eating to pay full price.

But my spirits improved markedly at the cheese bunker. Deli cheese, the expensive stuff, officially unaffordable post-pandemic is barely worth slowing the cart down to browse these days. Very sad. But today, the very day I had guests coming, I found Sunny Dog Barkin’ Herbs & Garlic Cheddar for $4 off. I remain forever grateful to the food industry rule that says cheese expires on a set date even though some of the most expensive cheeses in the world are priced out of affordability on that basis, senior cheese citizens. 

I didn’t want to push my luck after the cheese so I hung a left in Health and Beauty and headed for the check out. I’d take my modest savings and run. I could leave the store with head held high, self-respect intact, my reputation for finding deals untarnished. That’s when I spotted the Oil of Olay, my eye caught by the words “This store only.”

I was like the dog when he finds a pizza crust on the sidewalk. He stops, lowers his nose, sniffs, lifts his head, looks around as if to say, Is this a trick?, Is a hand going to reach out and snatch this away?, Have I died?, Gone to heaven?, and then falls to ripping and tearing at the crust, teeth bared, like the savage beast he is. I swept one after another bottle of Oil of Olay into the crook of my arm. How many were on the shelf? How many could I carry? How much did I want to invest in body lotion today? This year? This lifetime? I was drunk with savings greed. Eight? Sixteen? Twenty-four dollars? How much money did I want to save? Was my bag big enough to carry it all? As it turned out I was soon to face another dilemma. Toothpaste. Discontinued. Also half price. And to think that only moments earlier back in sandwich meats I’d felt so defeated. Look at me now, world!

In my experience every grocery store has its unadvertised specials. Discounts. Finite in quantity and hiding in plain sight. Big stickers slapped on packs of chicken thighs and salad kits and meat pies by store elves. “50% Off. Serve today” the sticker might say if the item’s perishable. Or freeze it. You could always freeze it. The stickered items might be in their regular spot on a shelf or in the refrigerated section or maybe in a grocery cart that looks like some crazed shopper decided to buy, say, every last package of elbow macaroni in the place and then thought better of it and ditched it somewhere away from the rest of its noodle family. Or maybe there’s a collection of random products on a rack in a remote corner of the store: quadruple-blade razors usurped by new and improved quintuple-blade razors, off-season gingerbread cookie mix and pumpkin-flavoured coffee, Easter chocolate, last season’s model of disposable diaper, kosher salt and matzoh ball mix, supplements, olive oil. They’re as good as they were in their original location but now they’re cast outs and available for a fraction of the price. Once they’re gone they’re gone. No rain checks; this is not a rain checkable situation. The time to act is now or not at all. Blink and you miss it. Either you seize the moment, decline to look the nice gift grocery horse in the mouth, or you look in and forfeit the prize and you’re left exiting the store with nothing more than full price sandwich meat.

I’m always on the lookout, always ready to pounce, and churlish, frankly, if denied. What gives? I think less of a store that doesn’t consider my shopping needs, provide me with a cheap thrill. I feel taken for granted, like they think I’ll shop anyway. And I will, of course, but sulkily. So when opportunity knocks, I answer. I’m available on its terms. Tetley Mint Tea? Of course I want forty of those tiny cardboard cylinders. At a dollar a piece I should probably take every last can on the shelf but I need to be considerate. Victory should not be exclusively mine.