Points mean prizes
Joe Loong/A mess of frequent buyer cards from my wallet/flickr
I’m not quite sure when it all started, but it seemed harmless enough. Why not say yes to that extra piece of plastic in my wallet, the one from that major supermarket retailer which I am encouraged to scan every time I make a purchase. In return for this supposed brand loyalty I am displaying I get rewards, I get POINTS, and these add up to highly prized discounts, or so I am led to believe. Then I was offered another one by a competitor, and it seemed churlish to refuse. It was not long before I accepted another one, this time from a High Street chain of pharmacies. Forget alcohol or drugs, dear reader; watch this dame sink into loyalty-fuelled oblivion.
So has it got to the point (forgive the pun) where I have to take a seat in the circle, raise my hand and admit that I am Dame Barbara and I am a pointaholic. You know that feeling – hey, if I spend over 30 quid I’ll get 50 extra points. But this other voucher is only valid until the 23rd of the month, after which I’ll lose my chance to get triple points on my next purchase. And maybe I should now redeem some of them for cash –but if I wait long enough I could cash them in for a flight on a budget airline. Just to further complicate the decision-making process, the competing retail institution down the road, for which I also have a loyalty card, has issued me with points that have to be redeemed by the same date. Should I go shopping twice to ensure I don’t miss out?
How many of us have stood pathetically at the self-service checkout, fumbling through our purses to find the relevant plastic card and THE VOUCHER THAT’S WORTH LOTS. Then once it’s been found there is the challenge of persuading the checkout machine to scan and accept it, which most of the time it doesn’t. Actually, of course, the amount of money saved is usually pitiful, but somehow we get sucked into the idea that we are getting something for nothing, when really we are just being thrown a peanut in recompense for the shed-loads of money we spend at these places.
I am beginning to wonder whether in fact this predilection of mine, which may be fast be becoming an addiction, is a result of nature rather than nurture, as my mother was an avid collector of anything that led to a free gift. Now in her day the best offers came from exchanging Embassy coupons for gifts. Many of our household gadgets were acquired in this way. The trouble was that Embassy was a brand of cigarette, so the more you smoked and compromised your health, the more prizes you got. I don’t remember exactly how many coupons came with a pack of twenty fags, but I always had the exciting job of opening each new packet for her and removing the coupons. She kept the cigarettes and I added the coupons to a box specially reserved for them in a kitchen cupboard. While her health presumably deteriorated, my arithmetic improved as I used to bundle the coupons in groups of 100 wrapped in an elastic band. I kept a note of their steadily increasing number and would give regular bulletins to the family as to how near we were to claiming that new egg whisk/hair dryer/piece of luggage.
So my advice is: don’t take that first step down the slippery slope of loyalty, because therein lies ruin. When some brightly smiling young person tries to press the application form into your hand – just say no.
Oh the joys of Green Shield Stamps!