Trader Joe’s and the Rise of the Lazy, Stupid Consumer

How stupid, lazy, and wasteful have we become?

There’s a Trader Joe’s store walking distance from my Phoenix office. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, when I need a break, I take Charlie Dog for a walk over there, buy a few things, and come back. Yesterday was one of those days.

I have mixed feelings about Trader Joe’s. I think their merchandise falls into three evenly divided categories: great, meh, and horrible. Every time I try something new that I’ve bought there, I can assign one of those categories to it. And despite what many loyal Trader Joe’s customers apparently think, there’s an awful lot in that last category: products to simply avoid because they suck. Still, people rave about the place. I go there because of the things that are great; the fact that it’s the closest place to get milk, eggs, and butter; and because going there is a good excuse to take a walk in the middle of the day.

Yesterday, however, I saw something there that not only floored me, but it reminded me of how stupid and lazy American shoppers have become.

I’m talking about the Guacamole kit.

Guacamole KitAs shown in this unfortunate photo — unfortunate because I snapped it with a man standing behind it, making the sign look as if it has legs and I really should know better (sheesh) — Trader Joe’s sells a “Guacamole Kit” for $4. It also sells 4 avocados for $3. On the same table.

I looked at the Guacamole Kit. It came in a plastic box — you know, the kind you might buy “box-o-lettuce” or some other kind of fresh produce in. It contained the following items:

  • 2 avocados
  • 1 roma tomato
  • 1 jalapeño pepper
  • 2 cloves of garlic
  • 1 shallot
  • 1 lime

Guacamole Kit, Close Up and PersonalI know this because I took a picture of the box, too. The label not only lists the ingredients, but it provides instructions on how to assemble these things into guacamole.

Wow. It’s such a good thing that Trader Joe’s puts these difficult-to-find-and-grasp ingredients in one handy box. I’m sure there are people all over the world denying themselves the joy of fresh guacamole because they simply lack the skills to gather six ingredients — half of which they might already have in their refrigerator — without getting lost in the produce aisle. And those instructions! The absolute key to success! Who knew that the avocado had to be peeled first? But wait! The recipe calls for salt and there was no salt in the box! Oh, no! What do I do?

Sheesh.

I see this as a way for Trader Joe’s — obviously a smart operation, given the way so many shoppers revere them — to cash in on the laziness and stupidity of its shoppers. People who would rather let Trader Joe’s pack whatever ingredients they need into a plastic box than spend an extra 2 minutes picking out the ingredients, making sure everything was unblemished and ripe. (I don’t know about you, but I like to gently squeeze an avocado to test for ripeness, especially if I plan to eat it within the next 24 hours.) People who can’t be bothered to think for themselves.

Which is possible, given the high percentage of Trader Joe’s shoppers who are on their freaking cells phones while they shop.

Maybe that’s the target market. Cell phone shoppers.

If people actually buy these kits, it’s genius on the part of Trader Joe’s marketing wonks. After all, they’ve put produce with a retail value of about $2.50 (if purchased separately) into a plastic box and can get people to pay 60% more. In other words, people are paying $1.50 extra for the plastic box and a label with a recipe.

And how many of those organic-food-loving Trader Joe’s shoppers do you think will actually recycle that box?

It’s stupid and wasteful.

But it’s an indicator of how lazy the people in this country have become. We don’t want to buy anything unless someone, somewhere has done all or part of the work for us. We eat at fast food joints instead of packing a bag lunch. We buy processed foods so we can microwave a meal instead of assembling and cooking a handful of fresh ingredients. We buy pre-packaged “kits” — often with “flavor packets” — to make the few “fresh” food items we eat.

All along the way, we subject our bodies to excessive use of questionable ingredients that have the potential to damage our health: salt, sweeteners, fat, chemical additives, preservatives.

But hey, it’s quick and easy, right?

And that’s all that seems to matter to us today. Taking the easy way out.

And the Trader Joe’s Guacamole Kit is just another indication of how lazy and stupid the American consumer has become.

Strike is Over…For Now

An Eclectic Mind and Maria’s Guides are back online.

Stop SOPA / PIPA
CC0 Image: KSimmulator

Yesterday, Wednesday, January 18, 2012, this blog, An Eclectic Mind, and my other main site, Maria’s Guides, went “on strike.” Like so many larger and more influential sites — such as Wikipedia, Craigslist, Reddit, and Boing Boing — I’d decided to help spread the word about the potential implications of the Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA) and PROTECT IP Act (PIPA) by giving site visitors an idea of what things could be like if SOPA or PIPA became law. While I don’t claim that either I or this site have the ability to sway public opinion, I believe that a strike can be most effective when everyone participates. I was just doing my part.

(To be accurate, I need to point out that my sites were still accessible after seeing the initial information screen. I’ve worked very hard to build readership on The Eclectic Mind and Maria’s Guides and didn’t want to completely alienate visitors who were looking for specific information. (At least 75% of traffic to my sites comes from search engines.) But in order to see the content, visitors had to look at the Strike message and find the “Continue to Site” link. Or visit it more than once during the day. And judging from the site stats for the day, I can only assume that many people did not take that extra step — which doesn’t surprise me, given the extremely short attention spans of people these days.)

Amazingly, there are many Americans who don’t realize how SOPA and PIPA could affect them. And, as evidenced on Twitter yesterday, there are a surprising number of people who have never heard of either one. (If you’re one of these people, you might want to watch this video, which explains it using a whiteboard and a discussion of the actual wording of the legislation.)

So I’m glad I participated. I helped spread the word. I hope a lot of people did and that awareness for the potential problems was raised. With the participation of over 6,000 sites, I was one of many.

Did the January 18 Blackout/Strike help? This Forbes article certainly makes it seem as if it did. PC World confirms this. And Wikipedia reports lots of support from users.

But the fight is not over. Many Senators and members of Congress still support SOPA, PIPA, or both — including, embarrassingly, BOTH of the idiot Senators from my home state of Arizona. Although the vast majority of informed Americans area against SOPA/PIPA, our elected lawmakers apparently don’t remember who they are supposed to serve: the American people — not special interest groups. The only way they can be reminded is if we remind them — by contacting them and letting them know what we think.

I’m doing my part. Are you doing yours?

Because if this legislation passes, sites like mine — and so many others across the web — might go dark forever.

Stop SOPA/PIPA. Stop Internet censorship.

Why I Canceled My Netflix Account

Goodbye NetflixDamaged discs and idiotic customer service.

Last night, I canceled my Netflix account. I hadn’t intended on doing so when I called customer service, but it’s the bullshit I encountered on the phone that made the decision easy for me.

My Netflix Account

I had a Netflix DVD-only account. Well, until recently, I had a Netflix unlimited three DVD plus streaming account. But when Netflix decided to split the two types of service and charge customers for each of them separately, I did away with streaming. After all, I’m living in an RV and get all my Internet access via a MyFi wireless device with a 10GB per month cap. Streaming video with my setup is not only impractical, but stupid and costly.

Of course, since I’m parked on the edge of a cliff overlooking a valley, I don’t have cable TV. And I don’t have a satellite dish. And my antenna picks up about 6 television stations. My inability to get live television doesn’t bother me much since I simply cannot tolerate commercials. At home, any TV I watch is via DVR with the remote in my hand. Here, I catch up on television series — normally a few years after the show has aired — via DVD. Hence, the Netflix account.

The trouble is, it’s gotten to the point where more than half the discs I receive from Netflix are damaged. Although I’ve had a few cracked discs, more often, the damage is scratches that cause the video to lock up, skip, and do other annoying things. While I’m willing to accept an occasional annoyance — perhaps once every month or so — when every second disc that arrives is screwed up, I run out of patience.

Last night, it came to a head. I received my third damaged disc in a row and I wasn’t satisfied with checking a few boxes on the Netflix Web site. It was pretty obvious that they were ignoring the check boxes. It was time to make some noise, to vent.

The Call that Ended it All

Calling Netflix customer service works like this:

  1. Log into your Netflix account.
  2. Navigate to the Contact Us link.
  3. Find and click the link for calling customer service. A toll-free phone number appears onscreen along with a six-digit code to expedite your call. This code is evidently unique to each account or call you make.
  4. Call the phone number.
  5. When prompted, enter the code.
  6. Wait, on hold, for a human to pick up while crappy hold music plays in your ear. Yesterday, this took about 5 minutes.

Of course, the longer I wait on hold, the more annoyed I get. So even the calming voice of the guy answering the phone at Netflix customer service at 10 PM on a Monday night wasn’t enough to cool me off. I immediately went into a rant about the number of damaged discs I was getting and how completely unreasonable it was. I wanted them to note my complaint on my customer record and tell me what they could do for me about it.

He made various sympathetic noises and told me how sorry he was. And then he did something that pushed me over the edge: he asked for my name.

“I just entered a six-digit number that appeared onscreen for my account while logged into Netflix. Doesn’t it pull up my name?”

“Yes, it does,” he confirmed. “But I need you to verify it.”

This made no sense to me. “But I’m logged into my account. My name appears at the top of the screen. Even if I wasn’t the account holder, I could easily read that name off the screen.”

“I need you to verify your name before I can help you.”

“But I verified my name when I punched in those six digits.”

“No, that just brought up your account. I need you to verify your name.”

“But the only way I could get those six digits was to be logged into my account.”

“I need you to verify your name before I can help you.”

“You’re reading off a script.”

“No, I’m not,” he said. He must have been lying. Then he repeated, “I need you to verify your name before I can help you.”

I cannot begin to explain how angry this conversation was making me. “I refuse to play this game,” I told him. “I have proven who I am by entering that code. I will not allow you to drag me into your game.”

“It’s not a game,” he said. “I need you to verify your name before I can help you.”

“I want to talk to a supervisor.”

A pause. I guess he punched the button to bring up the screen that tells him what to say when a customer asks to speak to a supervisor. “I can see if a supervisor is available, but I’m sure I can help you.”

“But you won’t.”

“I need you to verify your name before I can help you.”

“I want a supervisor.”

“I’ll see if one is available. I need to put you on hold.”

“Fine.”

He put me on hold. More of the same crappy hold music. Each minute that ticked by made me angrier. I was so sick of playing bullshit customer service games. I’m not an idiot. I don’t like being treated like one. By this point, I was already beginning to think that my Netflix account wasn’t worth the headache it was giving me that night.

About three minutes later, he came back on the phone. “I have a supervisor on the line. I’ll conference you in.”

“Fine.”

The supervisor came on the phone. He introduced himself as Daniel — I think; do I really care? He came right to the point: “Can you tell me your name?”

“Sure,” I said. “I can tell you my name. But I won’t.”

“I need you to verify your name before I can help you.”

“You have my name on the screen right in front of you. I typed in a code so that screen would appear. I don’t see any reason to tell you my name when I’ve already verified my identity by entering that code, which could only appear for my account.”

“I can’t help you unless you verify your name.”

He made the decision for me: “Then cancel my account,” I said.

“I’d be happy to cancel your account if you’d give me your name.”

Maybe he thought he was being funny. I didn’t think so.

“Well, since I’m already logged into my account, I’ll just cancel it myself.”

I hung up and clicked the Cancel Membership link. I then filled in the survey to indicate that the reason I was canceling was that there were too many damaged discs and I had a problem with customer service.

Netflix Doesn’t Care

Does Netflix care that it lost a customer due to its bullshit customer service scripts? I’m sure it doesn’t. And I think that’s part of the problem.

Companies don’t care about their customers anymore. All they care about is collecting our fees and providing the minimal service they can for what we pay. They make us jump through hoops when we want to contact them — get online, log in, navigate to a screen, dial a number, enter a secret code, wait, and then repeat information they don’t need. I’m tired of it, I’m tired of paying for inferior service and then facing aggravation when I want to complain.

So I’m done with Netflix.

I’m probably better off without Netflix. I certainly will save some money. And the time I don’t spend staring at the idiot box is time better spent reading or writing or even doing crossword puzzles. Stuff that might actually improve my brain instead of sedating it.

Stop Asking Me to Echo Canned Sentiments in My Facebook Status

I am not a parrot. Stop asking me to act like one.

It’s completely out of control. Every day, at least one of my Facebook “friends” posts something like this:

If you’re not scared, put this as your status and see what people rate you!!!
(1) Crazy (2) I’d marry you (3) I want to date you. (4) Sarcastic (5) I miss you (6) I’d kiss you (7) Beautiful (8) Smart (9) Imaginative. (10) Random (11) Smart mouth (12) Funny. (13) Fit. (14) Amazing. (15) Tough. (16) Cute. (17) I’d hit you with a bus. (18) I love you. (19) Weirdo (20) Friends forever

or this:

At 3 years”Mommy I love you.” At 10 years “mom whatever.”At 16 year “My mom is so annoying.” At 18 years “I am leaving this house.” At 25 years “Mom you were right.” At 30 years “I want to go to Mom’s house.” At 50 years “I don’t want to lose my Mom.” At 70 years I would give up everthing to have my Mom back.” you only have one Mom. Post this on your wall if you appreciate and love your Mom.

or this:

MAY I ASK MY FACEBOOK FRIENDS, WHEREVER YOU MAY BE , TO KINDLY, COPY, PASTE & SHARE THIS STATUS FOR 1 H0UR TO SUPPORT ALL THOSE WHO HAVE HEALTH PROBLEMS, WHO ARE STRUGGLING , AND JUST NEED TO KNOW THAT SOMEONE CARES. Do it for all of us , unfortunately no one is immune………AND MAY I ADD…….GOD BLESS ALL THE CAREGIVERS!!!!! THEY ARE THE TRUE HEROS……………♥ ♥

or this:

We are asking everyone to say a prayer for the US “Navy Seals” team and their families. Their helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan and 30 team members lost their lives. IT WOULD BE NICE TO SEE IT ON EVERYONE’S PAGE…Even if its only for an hour. Come on guys! Show your support! I am HONORED to re-post this! Thank you to ALL of “OUR” Service Men and Women

or this:

30 lost, 30 unwanted visits, 30 doors receive that dreaded knock, 30 families with shattered hearts, 30 pairs of boots lined up with rifles and dog tags and helmets, 30 comrades remembered and grieved for, 30 funeral services, 30 names on newly made grave markers, 30 empty places at the table, 30 souls who gave all, whose lives leave a void, so let’s take 30 seconds to repost this and pause to reflect on such a sacrifice as 30 gone forever…GOD BLESS ALL THEM ALL!! ♥♥

or this:

I have a personal favor….. Only some of you will do it, and I know who you are. If you know someone who fought cancer and won, or fought cancer and died, or someone who is still fighting please add this to your status for 1 hour as a mark of respect and in remembrance. I hope I was right about the people who will! I will do this for my family and friends…!

or this:

There are moments in life when you wish you could bring someone down from Heaven…and spend the day with them just one more time, give them one more hug, kiss them goodbye or hear their voice again. One more chance to say I Love you. Copy and paste in remembrance of our loved ones who are not here..gone but not forgotten!:} IN LOVING MEMORY OF DESIDERIO LOPEZ AND DANIELLE BRITTANY LOPEZ….YOU BOTH TOUCHED SO MANY HEARTS AND WILL FOREVER BE MISSED BUT NOT FORGOTTEN…. ♥ ♥

or this:

COUSINS are the first friends most people ever have when they are children. No one will ever understand your crazy family like your cousin. Even if you haven’t talked much lately. Re-Post if you have some of the BEST Cousins in the world! I love my cousins….my cousins are the best. ♥ ♥

Don’t get me wrong: I have feelings for these causes. (Well, maybe not cousins because mine aren’t anything to brag about.) I just don’t think a social networking service is the place to air someone else’s feelings about them.

I find the canned commentary about the recent helicopter crash in Afghanistan most offensive of all. War is tragic, bringing news of death daily. I can’t begin to understand what the friends and family of soldiers killed or injured overseas must feel. These young people have given their lives for their country and back home, life goes on. It’s horrible to think that the best we can do is copy and paste the same bunch of poorly written “tributes” on Facebook. Especially when we only seem interested in doing it after an unusually tragic event, ignoring the people who are killed or maimed every damn day the war goes on.

This reeks of slacktivism:

Slacktivism (sometimes slactivism) is a portmanteau formed out of the words slacker and activism. The word is usually considered a pejorative term that describes “feel-good” measures, in support of an issue or social cause, that have little or no practical effect other than to make the person doing it feel satisfaction. The acts tend to require minimal personal effort from the slacktivist.

When I challenged this parroting on Facebook with the comment “Either I’m friends with a bunch of losers who can’t seem to come up with anything original or this is completely out of control,” one of the worst offenders responded:

Losers..I think not!!!!! I have friends with loved ones that are now serving in our military……….When something bad happens, it effects us all…..No one wants that knock on the door!!!! We are showing support….NOT JUST POSTING FOR THE HELL OF IT!!!!! AND….I and many others have had family members that have either died or survived cancer………..I WILL NOT ACCEPT THE FACT THAT I AM OR ANYONE ELSE I KNOW ARE LOSERS!!!!!

(Perhaps all that is true, but there’s definitely something wrong with her Caps Lock key.)

I’ll argue this: There are far better ways to show support than to echo poorly written sentiments composed by others. If I’d lost someone in that helicopter crash and had to see this crap posted and reposted on Facebook all day long, I’d be shattered. Aren’t these people worth a little more effort? Can’t you put your sentiments in your own words?

Why are so many people like sheep?

So I came up with a New Rule: You ask me to put something canned in my Facebook status for “even just an hour” and I remove you from my news feed.

That should lower the noise to signal ratio a bit.

How the Hacking of My Brother’s Twitter Account Saved Me an Hour-Long Wait in the Hot Sun

A tale of poor memory, computer hacking, and kitchen renovation.

The other day, I wrote a typically long and drawn out blog post that was eventually about riding my motorcycle for the first time in years. Somewhere near the end, I bragged:

But what really surprised me is the way my hands and feet seemed to go into auto-pilot mode. My right hand and foot automatically moved to the brake lever and pedal to apply just the right amount of pressure for braking. My left hand and foot automatically moved to the clutch lever and gearshift to change gears smoothly. Balance comes naturally, even in the gravel parking lot at the RV park.

Muscle memory, pure and simple. Unfortunately, today proved that my other memory isn’t nearly as good.

My friend Pete picked me up at my temporary home in Wenatchee Heights and drove me to Quincy where my motorcycle was still parked. I needed to get it up to the orchard near where I’m living.

I’d ridden the bike from Quincy to Wenatchee and Chelan on Sunday, putting about 155 miles on it after filling the fuel tank. I honestly couldn’t remember how many miles I could go on a tank of gas, but had vague memories of a low fuel light and figured that would warn me when it was time to fill up.

Those vague memories were not quite right. Maybe the low fuel light is on my Ducati, but it certainly isn’t on my Yamaha. I’d just come through Wenatchee and was on my way up Squilchuck Road when the engine started running rough. I was almost to a stop sign when the engine died. I coasted to the curb and popped the fuel tank. I rocked the bike back and forth. I didn’t see a drop of fuel in there.

The trip odometer read 191 miles.

Crap.

I called AAA. I’m a member, primarily for the hotel discounts, which definitely pay for the membership each year. I connected with the Arizona office; they transferred me to the Washington office. I admitted my stupidity to the guy who took my call. I spent five minutes helping him figure out where I was — evidently, the names of the two streets on the street sign right over my head wasn’t enough for him. Then I answered multiple questions about my motorcycle: did it have a windscreen, saddlebags, sidecar; what color was it; what was its engine size? (All this info just to bring me a gallon of gas?) After all that, he promised that someone would come within an hour. If someone didn’t come by then, I should call back.

I thanked him and hung up. The last time I’d requested service, it had taken 90 minutes.

It was sunny and hot. I was in a brand new subdivision and there were no mature trees. There was a telephone pole, though, and I stood in its shade — or at least tried to. I had, of course, already stripped off my denim jacket and helmet.

To pass the time, I fired up the Twitter app on my phone and tweeted:

Duh. My motorcycle only goes 190 miles on a tank of gas. Waiting for AAA.

Hey, if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?

I scrolled through the tweets in my timeline and was shocked to see one from my brother, @chefnorb, who never tweets:

Im tooo laaaaazy to go to work today!! I WANT TO BE LIKE HER: http://tinyurl.com/[redacted]

I didn’t have to click the link to realize what had happened. I tweeted:

@chefnorb I suspect you’ve been hacked.

Of course, if he had been hacked, he’d never see the tweet. He really never uses Twitter. So since I had all that time on my hands, I shifted position to stay in the ever-shifting shade of the telephone pole and called his cell phone.

“I think your Twitter account was hacked,” I told him.

“Yeah?” he replied.

“Did you tweet something today?” I asked.

“No.”

“It’s definitely hacked.” I read him the tweet.

“Sounds like something I might say. I am feeling pretty lazy today.” He went on to tell me about the kitchen renovation at his house that was almost done after two months of hard work. He told me his wife was out of town on business and that he had to dust drywall remains out of the whole house and clean all the sawdust out of the backyard.

I told him I was still in Washington and that I’d just moved for my last contract. I told him about picking up my motorcycle and how I’d run out of gas. I told him I was waiting for AAA.

“How about the reserve tank?” he asked.

Crap. I’d forgotten all about that.

Motorcycles usually have a reserve tank setting. You twist the fuel control knob and it pulls fuel from lower down in the tank. It’s designed for situations just like mine — riding until out of gas. There’s always a quart or so left in reserve. At 50 mpg, that quart can get you pretty far.

Sure, I remembered how to ride the damn bike. I’d just forgotten everything else about it.

I was anxious to try it and didn’t want to waste any time (or gas) once I’d started the engine. So I thanked him, hung up, stowed my jacket (it was really hot), and put on my helmet. I twisted the fuel setting knob and started up. It ran like a charm. I made a U-turn and headed back into town.

It wasn’t until after I topped off the tank that I called AAA to cancel the call.

And it wasn’t until I got back to my RV that I tweeted:

Double-duh. My motorcycle has a reserve tank. Cancelled that AAA call.