I use coupons. However, I do not tote a binder and calculator with me on shopping trips. I do not return home with 2,304 toothbrushes, enough hand soap to will to my future grandchildren and a stockpile of items to donate to the women’s shelter. I save a couple of cents on dill pickles and I’m good with that.

A few nights ago, I got the fever. I wanted to clip more than my usual 5-10 coupons, and I went nuts on the Proctor and Gamble insert from last week’s paper. I started out clipping coupons for things I actually needed- Swiffer refills, detergent and diapers. But, as I clipped, I became obsessed. I didn’t need batteries now, but I would eventually. The husband can always use a back up roll of Charmin. And everyone needs Febreze, right? When I was done, I had 42 slips of paper in a pile. And I only really needed four of those items.

I timed my shopping trip to Hell Mart after my kids went to bed. I figured I needed to concentrate on this trip. I can’t keep track of 42 coupons while the boy is having a tantrum over the five foot inflatable pumpkin that costs a whopping 50 bones. And there’s no way I’m taking the girl along for the trip because she is learning to read, and I have to spell something for her every three seconds. Don’t get me wrong, I am super proud of my kid, and I’m thrilled to help her with her phonics. I just don’t want to walk around Wal-Mart for 2 hours spelling stuff. “Yes, honey, the back of that fat lady’s sweat pants says ‘Juicy’. J-U-I-C-Y, Juicy.”

So, I get to the store, coupons spilling out of a Ziploc bag, and I feel like I’m really about to do something monumental here. Turns out I left quite a few of them lying around the store because even with the coupon for Q-Tips, Swisspers are still much cheaper without a coupon. I know the husband doesn’t like putting sticks with a couple of shreds of thin paper on the ends in his ears, but I am cheap. He can bleed through the ear wax for 75 cents.

After a frustrating hour had passed, I make my way to check out. Despite leaving a ton of coupons behind because generic is cheaper, I still had at least 30 of the things. I pull out the Ziploc bag of money savers, and the redneck guy behind me shouts out, “We got an extreme coupon-er!” A siren and flashing lights might as well have gone off because before I knew it, I was surrounded by Wal-Martians. Tall ones, short ones, skinny ones, fat ones, knock off Ugg boot over sweat pant wearing ones, tobacco chewing ones, kool aid mustache ones, mullet ones, motorized cart operating ones, and your plain old run of the mill stinking ones.

The heat was on. I felt like I do in a heads up poker game where someone has just called my bluff, my heart sinks, and I lose all my chips while a crowd of people gather and moan at my terribly played hand. I knew these people were about to be disappointed.

I kept pointing out that I was not an extreme coupon person. I was not about to get my buggy load of crap for free. All I had was a measly 30 coupons. I hadn’t even used my coupons on sale items! These people were gathered around me for no reason. They were not going to be impressed.

The total before coupons was a whopping 142 bucks. A few in the crowd nudged each other, whispered something or another, a dirty kid in pajamas sucked a ring pop and looked up at me with booger crusted eyes as if I were about to save the world.

With every beep of the coupon-30 of them-some Wal-Martian made a comment.
“Maude, the total is going down!”
“Fifty cents off dryer sheets!”
“How much has she saved so far?”
“This is just like that show Granma watches!”
“Get over here and watch this Leroy! Yer in fer a treat!”

I wanted to grab the Secret deoderant from the buggy and apply it right then and there. At least someone in the crowd would be wearing antiperspirant. The point is, I was sweating like a pregnant nun. I had only saved $32.50.

When the cashier revealed my grand total of ONE HUNDRED AND TEN DOLLARS–not free, not a couple of bucks and some change, but still a substantial amount of ONE HUNDRED AND TEN DOLLARS for FIVE little bags of expensive P&G toiletries–the anticipation was gone. The Wal-Martians faded away. The ring pop kid went back to ride the Elmo Spaceship. One old woman in a rebel flag shirt and yoga pants actually grimaced at me as if I had wasted her time. I dropped my head and made the walk of shame to the parking lot.

If the entourage of Sam Walton’s rednecks hadn’t made my coupon usage such a huge deal, I would have been proud of my 32 dollar savings. But, no. Those douchebags wanted to see something miraculous. They wanted to rush home to their single wides, dial up Granny and Pop Pop and tell them a tale of the extreme couponing that they witnessed down at the Wal-Marts. They wanted to see me leave with 4 carts stocked full of Dentyne Icebreakers, Cocoa Puffs, Nutter Butters and Tampax and only pay $1.28. They wanted to witness a miracle, and I let them down.

As I was putting away my goods when I got home, I felt defeated. And yet, a new hope began to rise inside of me. A new determination. I’m subscribing to the Sunday paper, I’m going back to that Hell Mart, and I’m going to give those Nascar apparel wearing lunatics something to be proud of. I will be leaving that store with my 74 tubes of Colgate, my money, and my dignity. And they will love me for it.

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