For nearly 15 years, I worked for a staffing company in a variety of capacities. It was the 90s. I found myself in the age-old predicament of divorce after over a decade as a stay-at-home mom void of any desirable workplace skills other than a propensity to do very well playing The Oregon Trail. My axles never broke, my rafts rarely sank, and I was a wunderkind at trading flour for dungarees. My expertise in no-skill job searches led me in one of 3 directions: retail sales, real estate, or staffing. I chose the latter. It’s all sales, really. Show me a single mom who’s terrified of not being able to feed her kids, and I’ll show you a sales phenomenon in the making. After all, if we can convince a toddler to eat a green bean, we can sell ice to indigenous Alaskans. My staffing company wasn’t a household name in Texas like they were in California. Yet, they are still around when many Lone Star State companies fell to either the 9/11 or 2008 recession incidents. Hello, Today’s Staffing. I’m talking to you. This is in large part due to the founder’s infamous guarantee for direct hire sales. For a whopping 5 years, the Act 1 Group of Companies, operating as AppleOne, would replace your direct hire employee for half price – that old bird in the hand theory. The owner came up with the idea whilst battling insomnia. He saw an infomercial at 3 am about free weed eater string for life. It got me thinking about strange impulse purchases. Whether driven by indigestion, that one extra glass of wine, or babies that like to eat at all hours, don’t we buy some interesting things late at night?
I am as guilty as the next guy. My midnight sprees of the pre-divorce 90s include but are not limited to: a full set of Encyclopedia Britannicas, many wardrobe items from the Spiegel catalogue (that army green trench coat with the leather collar was the stuff of dreams), a complete collection of Victoria Jackson makeup, an entire Time Life CASSETTE collection called Singers/ Songwriters of the 70s, and every Ron Popeil gadget ever invented. Set it and forget it. We ate rotisserie chicken for years. It was a simpler time, albeit with a more complicated buying process. We had to work for that instant gratification! Just mail that stamped envelope with your personal check to the address on the TV screen (that you could not pause or take a picture of with your phone because pausing and cell phones had not been invented), and you might/probably/potentially could open your door and find the item waiting for you on the welcome mat in 2 months! Alternatively, you could walk into the hallway, grab the house phone mounted on the wall – either the cordless brick-like one with the 3-foot antenna or the one with the 20 ft curly cord, and call the toll-free number where a very bored and very rude person would take your credit card number down… and ship the item in about 2 months. That’s the origin of the statement “honey, this old thing – I got this months ago.” We weren’t lying.
It’s far easier to get carried away with impulse purchases today. I don’t think they even make infomercials anymore. First came QVC & HSN. Now, you can’t open a social media app without a complete and total barrage of the senses moving, breathing, gloriously colorful ads for something you mentioned out loud 15 minutes ago. Our devices literally listen to us and respond with purchasable options like robotic subliminal viruses. Everything is linked to Amazon. Case in point, an Instagram influencer was modeling a boiler suit in her stories. Hang in there. I realize not everyone has a complex understanding of Instagram, or stories, or influencers. But, listen. A boiler suit is a jumpsuit contraption that looks a lot like something a mechanic would wear to slide under your car and replace your whatsit thingamabobber, but super cute. I needed a boiler suit, stat! Life for me would not be the same without this boiler suit. MUST. GET. BOILER. SUIT. With glazed eyes, I clicked the link, which led to the Amazon website, which populated my cart, which prompted me to click on the complete order tab, which charged my already set-up debit card, which magically procured a boiler suit on my porch WITHIN HOURS. Crazy, but crazy cute.
I think the late-night shopping hit its crescendo last week. I had pneumonia. I was crazed, glassy eyed, and coughing until my head threatened to explode night after night, leading my husband to flee to the guest room. The guest room is next to the kitchen, you know, where we keep the ice cream. There he was, in the wee hours of the morn, having a snack & looking at pics of Sardinian vacations on his phone, when he saw it – that lifechanging thing he couldn’t live without. A few days later, when I was once again coherent, he broke the news. “Honey, you won’t believe what I ordered! You are going to love me for this! I got us some designer ramen noodles! They were ONLY $50. I mean, technically $65. I had to get the crunchy chili sauce because, come on, what’s ramen without crunchy chili sauce?” I caught 10 flies in my mouth before I was able to pick my jaw up off the kitchen floor. “Umm, you did not just tell me you spent $65 on ramen noodles.” Alas, he had done exactly that. The poor guy has been the butt of every joke in the family, online, and in our church group. But, you know what? Momofuku makes a darn good ramen noodle. And, that crunchy chili sauce is life. Here’s to the hope of less spending and more saving. Here also is to the occasional splurge. May we never lose the ability to buy ramen with childlike abandon while eating ice cream at 2 am.
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