The Impulse Table

Have you ever purchased anything at the grocery store from the impulse table set up right where you walk in? I never have, and it’s for a couple of reasons:

First, it’s sort of insulting howthe grocery store management thinks they can make me buy things based solely upon proximity. I mean, how lazy and out of shape do they think I am? (“Thank goodness, I can fill up my basket right here! I’m already breathing hard from walking across the parking lot, and I'm pretty sure I’d collapse if I had to go much further!”)

Second, they never even sell anything good at this table, anyway. For example, during the various holiday timeframes, they’ll try to push holiday related items, but only of the nasty variety, such as stale Christmas cookies with nothing on them but about three sprinkles; two green and one red. If it isn’t a holiday timeframe, they’ll just put out bakery that’s, at a minimum, one day old, in the hopes that somebody will be stupid enough to buy it. (“Well, these donuts may be rock hard and could very well give me food poisoning, but they’re still half off! Score!”)

I’m pretty sure that I’ll never buy anything from this table, out of sheer principle alone, even if it was something that I desperately needed and it came at a reasonable price. (“Even though I’m losing blood at an alarming rate from this gaping puncture wound, I’m sure as heck not going to buy these bandages! Do they think I’m the kind of sucker who’ll just grab the first ones he sees? I’d better see what else they have, assuming I don’t pass out!”)

Before the snow flies, they also always put flimsy shovels, along with hats and gloves, in this general area. However, even if a major blizzard was bearing down on me, and I had no shovel or hat or gloves, I'd still never buy these things from a grocery store, as it'd pretty much be an admission that I’m a total moron incapable of the slightest amount of foresight. (“Whoa! It’s snowing in December! Who’d have ever thought this would happen? I better get a hideous hat and gloves that are so thin I can see right through them, along with a plastic shovel that’ll break after two or three uses, and I better do it right now!”)

Maybe I’m just stubborn and don’t like being given obvious hints at what I should buy. In fact, I’d probably be much more likely to buy three-day old bakery if it were in the back of the store and labeled with a sign that read: “Purchase At Your Own Risk! This Stuff Is Old And Probably Tastes Like Dirty Socks!” (“Tell me not to buy it, huh? I’ll show them! Tastes like dirty socks, huh? Heck, it’ll be an improvement over my meat loaf, anyway!”)

I guess it boils down to this: If you want to make me do something, the last thing you want to do is hint at it. For example, if you think that the quality of this blog has been consistently going downhill, and that I should really put more effort into it, what you wouldn’t want to do is add a comment to this post that says, “Just some constructive criticism: Your stuff is terrible! If it were food, it’d taste like dirty socks! Try to do better, will ya?”

Instead, you’d have a much better chance if you employed reverse psychology and posted something like, “This blog is of some of the highest quality I’ve ever encountered! There’s no need to ever try and make it any better, since it’s already perfect! In fact, I don’t know how I ever lived before I found it!” Something like this would be sure to elicit a response from me such as, “So they think I’ve peaked, huh? I’ll show them! I’ll double my efforts and start devoting up to fifteen, perhaps even seventeen, minutes a week on this!”

Go ahead and post that, if you feel you must. I promise I won’t be offended.