The First Time I Got a Severe Discount on Breakfast Items

I have something of an interest in the clearance section at my local Fresh & Easy Neighborhood Market™. An interest, or perhaps, a rapacious appetite for discountery which knows no limits or boundaries.

A brief primer: Owned by the British Super-Market consortium Tesco, Fresh & Easy Neighborhood Market™ is a mid-sized grocer and provider of meals that embody the company's title: youthful and portable repasts designed to favor straightforward preparation. And in the name of freshness, the large variety of sandwiches, salads, and microwavable entrées available for purchase are fabricated without the inclusion of preservatives. This noble pursuit necessitates earlier expiration dates and a shorter shelf life, and gives birth to the remarkable markdowns aisle with which I am infatuated.

Unemployment was certainly a factor in the development of my abnormality. At the peak of my obsession, I often visited 2 to 3 times a day, due to an abundance of free time and an obligation to thriftiness. Based on the data of my frequent surveillances, I was able to ascertain the basic timetable that the blessed markdown gnomes employed as they went about their work. A first round of sticker placement ("Today's Special!") occurred in the late morning hours, typically reducing foodstuff dues by one quarter or one third of their original value. Things really got rowdy in the early evening hours, when a second round of stickers appeared, proffering their wares at rates of one half, two thirds, and even three quarters less than would otherwise be anticipated.

Alas, a recent move has dampened my enthusiasm for Fresh & Easy Neighborhood Market™. The nearest outfit is now 0.9 Imperial statute miles from my default position, whereas the previous measurement was 0.3. In addition to a proximal degradation of threefold, the quantity and variety of merchandise available for clearance has declined by a similar margin.

But let us not dwell on the negative. Let us recall the good times.

One Saturday, many months ago, I ventured down to the grocery and was pleased to find the clearance department well-stocked. I aggregated a small, diverse stockpile in my shopping basket. Among my discoveries were a package of four banana bran muffins, and a compilation featuring eight of Lemon Pound Cake's greatest hits. Each capsule normally retailed for a price of $3.96; but earlier that evening the gnomes had convened a great council, and decided that $1.00 would satisfy their overlords. Happily, I brought forth my bounty to the automated checkout registers.

I've no doubt that at this point some of my readers have closed their browser windows. What more could there be to the story? Certainly, I was more than satisfied with the value I was acquiring and would have been content to wander home and plan the dispersement of sweet bread-like rations among the week's breakfasts.

Now we rejoin the author at the point of purchase. The machine had performed its calculations, and I expected a modest sum due to my good fortune with Lady Bargain, but the final tally was noticeably less than my best estimates. I studied my receipt to ascertain the anomaly, and stumbled across an additional discount.
There was an ongoing promotion regarding selected breakfast items, allowing savvy consumers to purchase a deuce of packages for $6.00. As the subtotal for those two bundles would normally equate to $7.98, the automated checkout register was on the lookout for charming pairs of applicable SKUs, and when the lucky bar codes were scanned, it applied a discount of $1.96.

I realized that the gadget had dutifully applied it's $1.96 discount as its software had dictated. But as the subtotal of my muffins and pound cake was only $2.00, I had paid all of $0.04 for 12 delectable treats.

I won't forget that day. Its legend and hold on my consciousness only grows, as I lazily sift through the mediocrity of the clearance aisle at my new Fresh & Easy Neighborhood Market™. I got some heat and serve dinner rolls the other day for pretty cheap, but I mean, c'mon, dinner rolls? What's the point? Without a closeout deal on their Chicken Primavera or Shepherd's Pie to accompany them, it just seems like they're teasing me.