As a cis woman living in post-Roe America, I didn’t think my feelings of patriotism had any farther to fall, but your latest “loss prevention” measure has surprised me by alienating me yet further from the AmeriCone Dream®️.
Yesterday I swung by your store on my way home, hoping to pick up fixings for a quick dinner and ice cream for dessert. Imagine my confusion when I tried the handle on the freezer case door only to find it locked—and taped to the door beside it, a sign instructing me to push a red button for assistance accessing the ice cream pints within.
I dutifully pushed the button and waited for about ten minutes, shivering in the cold of the frozen aisle, before finally shaking the icicles from my nose hairs and accepting that nobody in your chronically understaffed store was coming to help me. I proceeded to check out without the Cherry Garcia I had come for.
You successfully deterred an ice cream seeker, but not the one you probably wanted to deter.
As I understand it, the cost to you of the predicted rate of shoplifting is already factored into the prices your customers pay. I can imagine why ice cream might be one of the most pilfered items—it’s calorically dense, sweet enough to take the edge off for someone who’s withdrawing from an illicit substance, and refreshingly cool. So, as far as I’m concerned, just let the poor people and the addicts steal the ice cream.
In fact, you sort of already do: one cold case out of eight was left unlocked, the one containing the larger quantities of ice cream. A few pints could even be accessed by reaching one’s arm into the next case over via the opening for the 1.5-quart and 1-gallon tubs. So those least able to afford to be sticklers for specific brands and flavors—i.e., those not planning to stop by the register on the way out—can still grab a good-enough option to fulfill their needs. It’s only customers like me—people with the intention of paying and the privilege of pickiness—who are likely to be meaningfully deterred from leaving your stores with ice cream. What a stupid, annoying self-own! Get it together.
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