The commodity of a range
I swear; after spending time in a retail enclave this afternoon, there is now proof of alien life forms among us. Or as a minimum, a ray that can strike thousands stupid at one time. Present company excepted, of course.
In to a box store, filled with thousands of articles “reduced” in price. At every corner, clients with a mission to spend, but unable to understand that the house always wins. Or the box store; substitute where appropriate. Thankfully I had nothing on my shopping list, so I escaped with the wallet intact.
Not quite the reason why I’d even ventured out today. I left home with a goal, and come Tuesday there’ll be a cube van with my new kitchen range parked at the end of the driveway. The family was near revolt. Chicken wings, or pizza, or any other foodstuff requiring high temperature in preparation were on the list of “maybe” for the last few months. Our oven was intermittent, and the display of “door” didn’t make the hungry happier.
After some time spent with flyers and online pricing, I discovered that a kitchen range is a commodity item. Yes, there are cosmetic differences, but when the salesman was pressed to differentiate one model from another, it came down to a choice. Did we want the top to be shiny black or shiny grey? Did we want “steam cleaning” or a broil element that heated uniformly? Was a warming drawer more necessary than a storage drawer? Prices were much like distilled fuel; little variation according to logo.
Come Tuesday, out with the old and in with the new. Forget the debt, because we still have to eat.
