I’ve been working at this supermarket for many years, long enough to recognize our regular customers. The woman who always wears yoga pants and does her weekly shopping on Tuesday mornings. The gentleman who rushes in every Friday about five minutes before we close to grab a frozen pizza. And so on.
Which brings me to you. Your face does look familiar, but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say that you only shop here once a month, and you never have a cart or even a full basket. My impression is that you just stop in when you forget to pick up something at your usual supermarket.
And yet, when I asked you if you had a loyalty card, you replied affirmatively, pulled it out, and scanned it, thereby knocking two euros and forty-three cents off the total amount due. This raises the question: do you really deserve that loyalty card? I’m seriously beginning to doubt it.
You might believe that a loyalty card is just a sales gimmick. You may see it as nothing more than a way to facilitate a transactional relationship. We offer you discounts and points, and in exchange you allow us to track your purchases and collect other data about your shopping habits.
Well, if that’s what you believe, you’re wrong. Dead wrong.
A loyalty card stands for commitment and fidelity, a promise that you will only shop at our supermarket, even when it’s inconvenient, or you find better prices elsewhere. Why? Because that’s what loyalty is. It’s strong and unwavering even when life feels out of control, a cold Arctic wind blows, or it’s Sunday and we close early.
We’re loyal to you. You know where we are. We’re not going away. And when we say we’ll be open on Sunday until 1:00 p.m., in your heart you know it to be true. We’ll always have our shelves stocked with hamburger buns, toothpaste, and cat food, whether you need it or not. Why? Because that’s what loyalty is all about.
The only sensible course of action would be for me to confiscate your loyalty card and destroy it—as callously as you stab us in the back week after week by doing your shopping with the cheap little competitor up the street who half the time runs out of tortilla chips and sells avocados that have been frozen. However, I’m willing to give you another chance to prove to us and, even more importantly, to yourself, that you have what it takes to honor a sacred pact—that you deserve that little piece of plastic with our logo and a bar code printed on it.
If not, we should give it to someone who actually knows what loyalty means.
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Luana M. works at a supermarket in your commune
