Sticker Shock: A Comical Journey into the Rudeness of Price Tag Placement
My battle with unsightly stickers
One of my pet peeves is the application of a sticker to an inappropriate place on an item I’m purchasing.
I buy a book. A sticker adorns the cover smack in the middle of the title.
How did it get to this point?
I picture the cover designer saying, “I’m going to put a fat barcode across the title!”
“Brilliant!” the publisher says. “Ambiance sells! Let’s use super glue too! We don’t want to lose a barcode!”
When I get the book home, I try peeling, but only half the sticker comes off. The bar code resists, and I leave a trail of glue and white slop. I use a scissor to scrape more, leaving assorted scratches, indents and residue.
“It’s what’s inside that counts for me,” I muse.
I open the book and see another sticker on the front flap.
“How will I ever learn about the author?”
I grab a chunk of pages and flip them aside to read the back flap.
Under “about the author” is a sticker blocking the first paragraph.
“Join the Boffo book club for exclusive offers.”
My thumbnail hurts from trying to remove it. Instead, I read the one legible line.
“The author lives—”
“Gee thanks.”
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A new credit card arrives in the mail.
I’m happy to see my company no longer requires a signature box behind the card. I’m not happy the activation instructions adhered to the face of the card with epoxy.
I go to the website on the sticker to activate the card. I’m asked to enter the account number. Half of which is covered by the impenetrable sticker. My blood pressure rises like a temperature gauge in a globally warmed desert.
I decide to call the phone number on the card.
The company uses a micro-font to prevent you from reading it. Isn’t that information everyone should be able to read?
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An apple a day keeps the doctor away, unless the supermarket adds a toxic sticker to its skin, causing me to whittle away the part with the most nutrients.
I use a kitchen knife to hack the sticker off.
I’m left with apple sauce.
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“What a lovely bottle of extra virgin olive oil. We can use it as a vase when empty.”
Three months later, I wash the remaining oil out, face the vase toward me, insert flowers and marvel at the immovable price sticker!
I run the bottle under hot water, then try alcohol and white vinegar. The sticker will not budge. I dream of setting the bottle on top of a garbage pail in my yard, lighting my flame thrower, and melting them both into unrecognizable ooze. Instead, I put the bottle in the recycle bin.
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My son gave me a figurine in a collectible plastic case. However, after I scrapped off the assorted stickers with my penknife, it looks like the NY City subway rats ate it for breakfast.
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“Thank you for the lovely blue shirt!” I say to my wife. “It’s my favorite color.”
I’m eager to try it on. However, first I must remove the clear plastic holder pinned under the collar. I pry the pins out. The bones in my fingers curl into unusable appendages.
Does the person who folded the shirt own stock in the Acme Pin company?
Finally, I wear the shirt. I’m home free.
“What do you think?” I ask my wife.
“There’s a sticker on your collar that says, ‘do not remove.’”
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I buy a handsome eight-by-ten wood frame for my diploma. The glass will protect my most important piece of documentation if I can use my superpowers to remove the sticker adhered dead center on the glass.
I debate whether to use the flame thrower but leave the sticker showing a fake family smiling at their fortunes. It will be a great conversation starter.
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Resistance is futile. I’m resigned to accepting the aesthetics of an annoying sticker.
This article from the book Lens of Laughter by the article author John Passadino and is available on Amazon.