Cargo Cult
When a member of my household says to me, "Hey, Dave, we're out of toilet paper", I know exactly what to do. Instead of tearing apart the telephone directory — as my grandfather did — and impaling it on a nail for easy access, I go shopping because nowadays we are all born to shop. Usually with list in hand, I visit my local Coles supermarket. To restock, I have no need to dig or wield an axe. My one sacrifice is parting with hard-earned cash. Over the years, a significant proportion of my income has been spent this way. The carcasses of dead animals, the many fruits of the earth and environmentally-correct toilet tissue are mine for the taking. Without the providers of the Coles/Myer group, my larder would have been empty all these years. When asked, "Is there a god?" I am tempted to concede that god is alive and well and living in my local supermarket. Such providence is so intimately meshed with my lifestyle that it is difficult to now question my naive assumptions. When I look at the cargo in my trolley, I am no longer happy to project my needs for next week's breakfast, lunch and tea. Instead of wondering what I'll be doing with the Rice Crispies and Vegemite, I am thinking that I've been had. If Solomon Lew and Lindsay Fox can do so well out of Coles/Myer, I'm thinking, where does the money come from? Maybe it's mine! This comes as quite a shock, and I am tempted to share my concern each time I negotiate the checkout. I have this urge to say: "It's a delivery please. EFTPOS and cash out. No Flybys. And tell me, do you feel exploited in any way?" Some are doing it much nicer than I. Despite all the talk about the freshest and cheapest, Lew, Fox, Mr and Mrs C.J.Coles' offspring and the Myer/Baillieus of Toorak, Portsea and Thedbo are doing very nicely thankyou — with
my money. It takes me at least 20 minutes to earn enough cash to purchase a jumbo-sized jar of Vegemite, half an hour for a week's coffee supply, and more than a day to cover the cost of my whole food bill. So when I learn that my providers are ripping me off I get touchy. They are profiteering from my dependence on food, my penchant for a caffeine hit, and my occasional indulgence in Tim Tams. If that's not exploitation, I'll eat my hat. (And even
that was purchased from Myers!) Dave Riley