It might say it’s $15 for $50 worth of pastries, but really it’s an incredible discount on me getting fucked. You might be buying organic farm-fresh produce delivered right to your door, but I’m getting a big fuck you delivered right up my ass. While you’re clicking frantically to jump on the unbelievably-priced session with the downtown photographer, my fate is being sealed—my getting fucked fate.
(Of course, I’m assuming you already know what Groupon is. Maybe you don’t. Get familiar or the rest of this post won’t make any sense. Back to the post).
I won’t get fucked right away. It could take some months after Jill agrees to the deal before I even feel it. But it’s always the same. No matter what it is, I get fucked. It happens every time.
Jill committed me to a deal with Sarah’s Pastries or Pastries by Sarah or Sweet Sarah’s Good Goddamned Sugary Shit that required that I redeem $50 of baked decadence one macaroon at a time. She bought it because she thought it was close enough to my work allowing me to run my ass off to get her pastries and still be home in time to listen to her complain.
The problem is that while the location of the bakery was close to where I work if you’re looking through Google Earth, it’s not really close at all down there at street level. I walk to work and taking me a mile and a half out of my way is essentially adding almost an hour to my day. I found that out one Friday.
It was the Friday before Mother’s Day. Jill bought the Groupon in January and she had just begun crawling slowly up my ass asking where her pastries were, pointing out that the Groupon expired in July. I thought it would be nice to make my first trip at the outset of Mother’s Day Weekend and bring home an olive branch with a few cupcakes on it. So I left a little earlier for work and I took the obnoxiously long detour to Macy’s (Sarah’s Pastries is located inside) only to find they were closed. They didn’t open until 10. Fucked. I decided to go on my lunch hour.
I donated my entire lunch hour that day walking there, picking from the small, completely over-priced selection, and heading back to the office. It was meant to be a surprise, so I couldn’t exactly ask her what she wanted. But with Sarah’s pitiful selection, the fallout from a bad pick could be contained with a simple “It was that or nothing. I chose that. Would you rather have nothing? Nothing would definitely be easier.” I kinda figured that she’d be happy to see the little box of goodies anyway, and that would cover any error in judgment on my part. Besides, I also picked up a menu, so the next time would be fool-proof.
I came home with the cupcakes in the box in the bag, fully expecting a round of smiles. I set the box down in the kitchen where she would find it and I waited. She walked into the kitchen. I heard her little remark of discovery. The bag rustled, the box opened. Then she called my name, marched through the house, found me, and said, “These are melted!” It was unseasonably warm that day. “You had all winter to go and now you’re going just as it’s getting hot! Look, the frosting is all over the side of the box. And these are cupcakes. Didn’t they have macaroons?” I handed her the menu. I had two months left on that Groupon.
The next time was a more focused fuck. She bought farm-fresh organic vegetables delivered right to your door. I don’t know why. Maybe just to see if they rotted any differently than the pesticide-drenched vegetables currently liquefying in our crisper (**SPOILER** they don’t). The problem was that they wouldn’t deliver to the suburbs where we live. But she already bought the fucking Groupon. The solution was that they would deliver to my work address. OH FUCKING GOODY! So Jill placed her order and a day later a huge tote arrived at my work. The tote was a plastic container with a Styrofoam insert full of the shit she ordered. Again, the walk to work was a factor. I walk about a mile to the train every day and I wasn’t going to lug it all that way. I cabbed it to the train and she picked me up from the train and that’s how the veggies we never would have otherwise bought made it to our home. Well, at least that was over. HA HA, wrong again, fuck-face!
The veggie people wanted their tote back. The tote that was sitting in my suburban garage as the bib lettuce rotted. In the outskirts of Chicago. Where the veggie people never ventured. So somehow that tote needed to go back to my office. The veggie people were starting to send angry notices. The carrots were growing tired and floppy. We eventually got the tote back downtown. But the swiss chard didn’t make it.
These are just two small examples from a petty man who couldn’t be bothered with a walk or a tote. Not exactly a damning cacophony of evidence. But the point is that Groupon encourages us to buy things we don’t really want from people we’ll probably never see again. Because getting shit half off is just orgasmic. How the fuck can you pass up getting 90% off a tongue piercing. It’s 90% off! Get that shit pierced.
So we pounce. Then we think. But even as we think, we’re thinking what a good fucking deal it is and what an awesome hunter we are and that this is the best site ever. Never admitting to ourselves that 50% off something we didn’t need is still 50% more than we should have spent.
But don’t get me wrong, we have the Groupon app on both of our iPhones and we regularly sign up for deals. And we’re getting better at staying on top of the ones we buy. But they still occasionally expire. We still drive a little our of our way to redeem them sometimes. We still have fantastic organizing and time-management issues that are completely unrelated to Groupon. No matter how much I’d like to blame them.