Extreme Couponing celebrates people who game the system. The premise of the show is quite simple: we watch people shop for hundreds of dollars worth of goods at the supermarket, and by using coupons, the pay nothing.
The way they accomplish this feat is rather clever. The couponers scope out what items a supermarket has on sale. They then search for coupons that provide a savings equal to or greater than a discounted good. When the coupons are applied, the net difference is in their favor. Here’s an example: you see that Tylenol is on a blowout sale for $1.50 per bottle. You have a coupon for $2 off a bottle. You buy 50 bottles of Tylenol, apply a coupon for each bottle, and the supermarket owes you a credit of $25 (or the coupon is for $1.50 and you pay nothing for the Tylenol).
Because the couponers are typically soccer moms shopping for large single income families, we applaud their stratagem to provide their children with an abundance of food. They’re doing nothing illegal — just taking advantage of a loophole. But they’re really no different than the tax attorneys for General Electric that exploit holes in the tax code so that GE doesn’t pay federal taxes. Imagine the outrage if there was a reality show about these attorneys called Extreme Accounting.
So what we have is a show about cheats, and each episode we watch families fleece a supermarket.
As expected, despite being a “reality show,” Extreme Couponing distorts reality. The closest thing to conflict there is in an episode is that a safe guard at the register kicks in to prevent the couponers from doing what they’re doing — such as the register shutting down after a certain number of the same item has been purchased or a certain number of coupons has been used. After 30 seconds of panicking, the store manager steps in and overrides the safe guard. Good luck finding a store manager who will be willing to do that when you’re not the surrounded by a camera crew (some couponers bring a printout of a the supermarket’s coupon policy with them). And this is where the joke is on the viewer. The whole show is in advertisement for shopping — seeing the massive savings the couponers achieve makes me want to go out and do some extreme couponing — but the average person is never going to reap zero net costs at the register.
The show also seems to be specifically designed for snobs like me who take delight in other people’s mediocrity. The couponers report saving upwards of $65,000 a year on goods from couponing, but such savings requires 35 hours of work a week. Given the time vs. return on investment, you have to wonder if these people would be better off with a full-time job. A college educated person in their 40s and 50s should be making that much, plus, they’ll be getting health insurance and be participating in some sort of retirement program. There’s no 401k for extreme couponers.
What has me scoffing the most, is the food that these people are buying. The couponers primarily purchase soft drinks, meats, and high carb snacks — they’re not buying any fresh fruits or vegetables. I hate to sound like someone’s mother — hey, that’s why I watch the show — but it’s a gigantic recipe for obesity, heart disease and diabetes. The couponers claim to be good providers for their families, but they’re really poisoning them. Their diets are limited to what there is a coupon for.
And if there wasn’t enough for me to snicker at, the most bizarre aspect of the show is how many people credit divine intervention for their couponing skills — god gave them the gift of couponing. I’m not a religious scholar, but I’m confident that the Talmud and Jesus frown on exploiting the loopholes that extreme couponers profit from.
As entertaining as Extreme Couponing already is, there is a way TLC could make it even better: have the show’s producers collude with the supermarket managers so that the cash register safe guards are not turned off. Watching the couponers squirm when they realize they’re not going to pull off a fast one will make for great TV.
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