I just read a series of comments, started by a reader of the Camden (NJ) Courier-Post, about store key tags; those little keyring accessories with bar codes and personal identification or member number data on them, entitling you to special shopper discounts at your favorite stores. The first reader to comment via the paper’s open forum column was concerned about the potential invasion of privacy. Two readers chimed in to add their comments about the subject and seemed okay with the idea of using them.
Stores seem to gather information about how often you shop with them and what you buy. In turn, that translates into supply and demand data (what products are languishing or going out of stock on the shelves), what sizes of products sell, if promotions or store/manufacturer coupons work during a particular event or time frame, and other such bits of information vital to the operation of a business. Today, one of those discount tags (or cards, if you prefer those) can open doors for you anywhere in the country. It was not like that not to long ago.
Years ago I was in Tennessee and tried to use the charge card for my local department store at a chain which was supposedly able to accept my card because they have the same parent company. My card even said on the back “Use this card at. . . .” Unfortunately the poor sales clerk had to call a manager to figure out how to do it, so it took me twenty minutes to accomplish. The charge did go through, and it didn’t show up on my bill for three months. Maybe the folks at the parent company didn’t think I would take them up on it.
On the other hand, I was in Pathmark store awhile back, and I had the nicest cashier who smiled and graciously accepted my Super Fresh discount key tag (they have the same parent company as well). But two weeks ago, I was at the same store, and my flat-voiced checker not only grumbled about my presenting the key tag, she threw my purchases into plastic bags after I had asked for combo (paper in plastic) and wanted me to hand back two extra paper bags I was prepared to take with me. I politely explained that I intended to put the paper bags into the extra plastic bags when I got home, and did not give them back. I also have not gone back to Pathmark.
I shop at Target (or, if you prefer, “Tar-zhay”) with a friend, and every time she buys two particular products and swipes her well-worn credit card to pay for them, the register spits out coupons for more of that product on her next visit. They know she uses it, and the supplier wants her to keep buying it, and Target wants her to keep buying it in their store. On the other hand, I go to the same supermarket every week to get the groceries, and I pay cash. Though I am not a sporting person, I get the same coupon for Sports Authority every week. It goes in the shredder. Hey, no system is perfect.
My problem with those key thingies is that not every merchant places the hole for insertion of my key ring in the center of the little strip of laminated cardboard. One has the hole in the upper left corner, and another is just the size of a guitar pick, so my OCD gets a workout because I have a stack of those tags on my key ring and they never line up neatly. Like the marcher in the parade who is one half step out of line, my key ring is in chaos. The designers also carefully arranged the barcode so I can’t re-punch a hole in the middle to restore order.
In the good old days of our parents or grandparents, charge accounts were done with metal key fobs. At least they wouldn’t soil or erode as easily as laminate, though they would weigh heavily in a pocket or purse. These little shopping aides seem to be a woman’s domain. We are the ones who hit the malls, after all. It’s just as well, as a man wouldn’t tolerate the extra bulge on the keychain or the resulting ridges in his buttocks. I hear there is an app for smart phones on which you can record your key tags and flash them at the store instead of using the stack of stuff, but I don’t own a smart phone. Mine is not low on IQ, but I keep getting coupons for Sports Authority instead of the iPhone (R) store. So much for invading privacy: they haven’t a clue about me, even with my keyring full of barcodes.
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