Today’s efforts to track down bargains rely on a deck of cards. However, it’s not the standard 52-card deck that you play canasta or gin or bridge with. Rather it’s an eclectic sort of credit cards that various merchants offer to entice you to return to their stores.
I have a Liz Claiborne Preferred Club card, probably the equivalent of a Queen of Hearts, which entitles me to fifty dollars of free merchandise after I’ve spent five hundred dollars with Liz. This really amounts to a ten percent discount across the board; and because Liz clothing fits my body style, it isn’t difficult to accumulate.
I also have a Jockey Club card, maybe a Ten of Spades, that allows me to purchase one free item after I’ve bought twelve items of similar value. This one is harder to use because I have to drive to the next state to find Jockey outlets. No matter, I’ve got the card when the moment arrives.
Then there’s the AARP card that is good at various hotels for senior discounts, my Kinko’s express pay card that enables me to make copies if my in-home printer is down, my Delta SkyMiles that adds points so that someday I can take a free airplane ride, my supermarket cards that give me discounts on fruits and veggies, my Country Kitchen card that gives me a free breakfast after I’ve paid for six, and my JCPenney’s card that offers the seventh bra I purchase for free.
You never know what savings you’ll accumulate with all these cards. And, believe me, the ones I mentioned are only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
There’s also the Qdoba card, the Aerosoles card, Target, Home Depot, Chocolate Cafй, Hallmark Cards, Wyndham Hotels, Starbucks, Jimmy John’s Repeater Eater, problem is that I don’t carry most of these cards in my purse. Instead, they have permanent residence in my desk. It’s a function of the size of purse I choose to carry (which is probably a blog unto itself) and also the fact that, if my purse is stolen, I would have many more cards to alert to possible fraud. This means that, whenever I plan a shopping excursion, I need to go through my desk and determine if a particular discount card will be relevant in the coming hours.
I’m not good at this. Rather, I forge ahead, shopping on impulse; and when the cashier asks if I’m a member of the store’s club, I nod yes but can’t produce proof. Sometimes the cashier tries to connect my address or telephone number to an account, but just as often he or she gives up and I pay regular price.
So . . . why do I have a deck of cards in my desk? I’m not sure, except that I hope someday I’ll make the time to purchase that fifty dollar Liz Claiborne item or claim my seventh bra as free. Wish me luck.
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