Since there is already enough dishonesty and subterfuge in the world, I’m going to cut to the chase here like a good 3-minute punk rock song:
I don’t like you.
That’s difficult for me to say.
I don’t generally put effort into telling people…coupons…when I feel less than brotherly love toward them.
I’d rather be all about the good vibes; all about being a positive force in the world.
But you come into my house, an interloper hidden within the Trojan Horse that is a birthday card to my child from the large cartoon giraffe that is your spokesperson…spokesungulate…
And you offer us a seemingly generous $3.00 off any store purchase of more than $3.00.
You make it sound almost free. A “free gift”!
But you know, oh conniving coupon.
You know that my children will be lured by your cheerful cherry-colored graphics, lured like…well…like children! Like children are lured into slow-passing vans with candy and puppies and the come-hither of Curlz MT font.
Stay away from my kids, you back-alley coupon!
Stop grooming them with personalized birthday cards! Stop manipulating my kids! Stop exploiting lovable savanna creatures by dressing them in red sweatshirts and parading them around with their big googly eyes, begging to be saved from economic extinction!
Just stop it!
And still...I feel guilty, damn you.
I feel guilty that there on my kitchen counter is a golden ticket to $3.00 free merchandise. Am I so wealthy, so well-off that I can turn up my proletariat nose to a free $3.00 in any form? If I saw three bucks sitting on a park bench all by itself, would I cross the street to ask whether it was okay? Whether perhaps it needed a ride somewhere, perhaps in my wallet?
Yet, where in your store is any single item that costs a mere $3.01?
(I mean besides the gargantuan lollipops or ladybug stickers that will end up all over my kitchen cabinets.)
You know, oh shifty coupon. You know as well as I do that this isn’t about you getting my shiny copper penny or a jovial giraffe who wants the best for my children.
It’s about me being hounded to death by the birthday girl via “WhencanwegocanwegotodaywhencanwegotodaywhendaddygetshomeIwanttousemy
birthdaycouponyousaidwedgotoday!” You know it’s about me entering your labyrinth of shiny-buy-me with good intentions to teach the worth of a cent and practice the discipline of discerning want from need, only to exit hours later a broken woman, $22.00 poorer, my birthday girl prancing beside me swinging her bag of purple-glitter, spinning-whirring Make Me Happy.
Does no one listen to The Clash anymore? Whenceforth the guaranteed personality?!
And what’s almost worse -
Even if I never, ever use you; even if I withstood the slings and arrows which will be flung my way via a small determined child crazed on Toy Store Coupon crack; even if I stood my ground and pointed out quite reasonably that the fuel alone needed to drive to the toy store would cost as much as the coupon would save us; even if all that -
Because you are a coupon with an expiration date, I won’t be able to bring myself to throw you away before June 30, 2009.
On top of everything else, coupon, you’re clutter.
Bite me, coupon.
In closing, bite me hard.
I hope that you appreciate my candor even when you offer me none of the same.
You are a filthy, rotten piece of paper.