I haven?t paid for toothpaste in two years.
I purchase toothpaste, of course. There are at least four tubes of minty freshness in my medicine cabinet. But I don?t pay for it, and it?s all thanks to the $1 double coupon.
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As a yuppie frugalist ? a young urbanite who likes to save money ? I frequent grocery stores that honor double coupons up to $1. That means when Colgate and Crest are on sale for less than $2 ? which is often ? my $1 coupons, when doubled, buy me several tubes for little or no money at all.
It doesn?t stop there, either. I save on everything from cold cereal to cold cream ? the latter of which I don?t even use. But when you?re only paying 23 cents for Pond?s products, how can you resist? It?s a great deal no matter how you apply it.
Well ? it was a great deal.
There are few things I look forward to more than the Sunday paper. An educated man, I like to read the local news or peruse the style section of daily periodicals. Just not on Sundays. As I unfold the cellophane-stuffed stack of current events, I discard everything but the coupons. There?s something about the brightly colored, bar-coded inserts that sucks me in. It?s mostly visions of dollar signs dancing in my head, but, hey, I?m about to pay 70 percent more a month for electricity. Give a guy a break.
Arguably, I may be the only 20-something man in America who enjoys grocery shopping. I?m OK with that. Because on each two-hour trip to the market, after systematically pushing my cart through every aisle, and rummaging through my categorized box of scannable savings, I walk out a winner. Seriously. If my excursions to the grocers were practice sessions for a contestant on the game show “Supermarket Sweep,” I would crush the competition.
Perhaps that?s a bit brash, but I?m a pro. I meticulously scour every section ? from fresh fruit to frozen foods ? stocking up on brand-name goodies, all the while cushioning the blow from the impending total. That?s the power of the $1 double coupon ? turning every dollar I?m not spending into $2 I?m not spending. Who doesn?t love that?
You should see me at the checkout counter, too. It?s quite a sight. After I?ve unloaded all my items onto the conveyor belt and the cashier rings them up, I hand him or her my store-specific club card to take advantage of the instant discounts. Then I surrender dozens of coupons in hopes of subtracting more money. After everything?s deducted, a bill that was originally $186 is magically reduced to $93. Yeah ? $93! And every time is like the first. You?d think I?d won the lottery the way it excites me.
That?s all nostalgia now, though.
It?s a distressing state of affairs when one of the last remaining American institutions ? double coupons ? sucker punches you when you?re not looking. On my last trip to the market, I saved a paltry $40 because now only coupons up to 50 cents can be doubled.
Sure, that?s a generous amount to the common clipper, but it doesn?t create the euphoria that $100 worth of savings induces. I?m simply baffled as to why the corporate grocers had to extract every ounce of fun from my adventures in marketing. I wasn?t hurting anybody ? honest, I wasn?t ? so why am I being punished?
I don?t ask for much. Really, I don?t. But someone has to stop the madness. I?m brand loyal. I?m a consistent shopper. And, most importantly, I?m cheap. To whom it may concern: Pleeeease end the super-savings smackdown and re-allow $1 double coupons. My Sunday mornings count on it.
As does my refreshingly kissable breath.
Michael A. Knipp is a 25-year-old Baltimore-based freelancer and the founder of Line/Byline Communications. He can be reached at [email protected].
