THIS ISN'T ABOUT COMFORT – THIS IS WAR!
An ordinary shopping trip turns into a full-scale military operation. Armed with shopping lists, receipts as evidence, and an unwavering determination to save the wholesale market, two seasoned bargain hunters march into battle: the supermarket.
Here, they face strategic plans, ambushes, tempting discounts, traps, and the enemy’s cleverest tricks. But there are also smart maneuvers, lightning-fast attacks, and that little thrill that makes the heart beat faster on a hot Saturday outside the store.
A humorous story about the fight against overconsumption, cunning marketing tactics, and the eternal hunt for the best deal. For everyone who has ever celebrated a receipt, stocked up the cupboard to the brim, and still found themselves starting all over again the very next Sunday.
You’ll recognize yourself if:
- Your shopping list becomes a battle plan.
- Special offers are as tempting as hidden pitfalls.
- Hunger and impulse purchases take over your concentration.
- The receipt reveals the truth.
And when it catches you once again, there’s only one thing to do: on to the next round!
Excerpts from the Book
Operation Bargain Hunt Begins
Sunday, 12:00 noon. The hunt can begin.
Bang. The week's advertising flyers land in the mailbox with a sound that, to an untrained ear, means nothing more than paper hitting metal. To high command, it means something entirely different. New intelligence has arrived. Maps of the coming combat zones. Information about enemy prices, loss leaders, and limited-time offers.
The bundle of ads is carried solemnly inside and spread across the kitchen table. Ordinary families use the table for lunch. Here, within seconds, it becomes a command center. Coffee cups are moved aside, reading glasses are fetched, and a ballpoint pen clicks into action with the same gravity as an officer taking the safety off a service weapon.
First comes a quick overview. Then a slow one. Then another quick one, just to be safe. The check marks begin to fly.
Coffee, three packs for $10. Butter, members only. Ground beef, limited quantities. Toilet paper, buy four and receive something vaguely defined at no extra charge. Laundry detergent, twenty-five percent off if you buy a size that will not fit in any normal cupboard.
"The coffee is cheap," one half of high command observes.
"We already have coffee."
"Yes, but not cheap coffee."
Silence follows. The argument is difficult to counter. Cheap coffee that is not yet needed is, after all, a future saving. At least according to the economic doctrine just adopted at the kitchen table.
The refrigerator is inventoried. The freezer is opened. A frozen bag of bread falls out and hits the officer responsible for storage on the foot. The incident is noted but produces no organizational changes. There is still room in the freezer, it is claimed. Admittedly, only if the contents are stacked using methods normally employed in the construction of stone bridges, but room exists.
The shopping lists are written and ranked according to carefully considered priorities. First come the things that are genuinely needed. Then the things that are so cheap it would be financially irresponsible not to buy them. After that come things that might be needed. Last are the things nobody needs but that carry a red sale sticker.
The route is planned. Five stores are to be visited. On the map, it looks simple. Store one, store two, coffee break, store three, store four, and the final showdown at store five. Estimated time required: two hours.
No one in high command comments on the fact that the same estimate was made last week, when the operation took five hours and twenty minutes.
Monday dawns. Operation Bargain Hunt goes live.
Before departure, a final inspection is conducted. Shopping lists? Present. Membership cards? In the phone. Reusable bags? In the hall. Deposit bottles? Forgotten. The bottles are retrieved. Car key? Missing. The key is found in the jacket pocket where the responsible officer has already looked twice.
The troops leave home with high morale and the firm conviction that this week will be different. No unnecessary purchases. No ice cream. No chips. No spontaneous decisions. The list is law.
First obstacle: the parking lot.
Resistance appears immediately. Every space close to the entrance is occupied. One car is parked diagonally across two spaces, as though its driver expects an air raid and requires an additional safety perimeter. After one circuit of the area, a space is located far from the entrance, near a shopping cart that appears to have been abandoned after an earlier failed expedition.
"Good," someone says. "We'll get some exercise too."
No one answers.
A shopping cart is obtained. Three wheels work. The fourth has political convictions of its own and pulls stubbornly to the left. The troops make a brief attempt to switch carts, but the next one is jammed into the row. A decision is made to proceed with the available equipment.
The entrance is crossed. Battle begins.
The first objective is the coffee. Questions multiply. Where is it? Does the advertised price apply to the right variety? Is membership required? Is there a purchase limit? The fine print on the sign is studied. Another customer steps up and begins reading too. Both try to appear casual, but it is obvious that they are caught in the same intelligence crisis.
After some reconnaissance, the correct coffee is found on the bottom shelf behind a stack sold at regular price. Two packs are loaded into the cart. A small victory. Morale rises.
Next come the butter, milk, and a package of pasta. Everything is proceeding according to plan. The cart still rolls sideways, but the troops have learned to compensate by walking with one shoulder forward.
Then they approach the chip aisle.
Chips are not on the list. They have never been on the list. Even so, the cart seems to slow down under its own power. The brightly colored bags stand in perfect formation, promising Friday-night comfort even though it is Monday.
"We have chips at home," says one.
"Only that weird flavor."
"It was cheap."
"Yes, and there is a reason it is still there."
The troops' weak point has been exposed. One bag is lifted down. Then another, because the offer is two for a price no one has time to calculate properly. A defense is formulated immediately: chips keep for a long time. Chips are useful if someone visits. No one knows who might visit or why the visit would require two large bags of sour cream and onion chips, but the order is carried out.
The checkout lanes shimmer in the distance like a mirage. Before them, however, lies the final line of defense: the candy shelves and the bulk candy bins.
This is where disaster strikes.
The cart slows. An empty bag is taken automatically. A few pieces go in, merely to sample later. Then, naturally, the correct balance of sour, salty, and chocolate must be secured. The bag grows. The scale displays an amount that is quickly dismissed as a technical malfunction.
After checkout, the receipt is examined. The coffee, butter, and pasta produced a clear saving. The chips and bulk candy consumed it. The first attack ends financially at roughly break-even.
High command regroups in the parking lot.
"We learned something," someone says.
Exactly what remains unclear.
The operation has only begun. Store two is waiting, and the same troops will soon attack again, hopefully wiser after their first setback.
[...]
The Hunger Crisis and Surrender to the Buffet
The troops are beginning to wear down. The coffee has stopped working, and the temporary unity created at the cafe is showing cracks.
One believes the car is being driven too slowly. The other points out that the driver is also the person trying to find the entrance to store four. A sign is missed. A traffic circle is driven around one extra time. Neither admits that the conversation has become unnecessarily sharp.
The campaign must continue.
Thoughts are now focused on food. Not food as merchandise, but food as immediate rescue. Hunger is waiting around the corner and beginning to take command of decision-making.
"We should have eaten something real at the cafe."
"The pastry was real."
"Not real food."
"You say that now."
Store four is located in a shopping center. The parking lot is large but, strangely, full. A space is found near a cart return, which at first seems convenient. The return turns out to be empty. The troops have to walk all the way to the entrance for a cart and then back several yards because someone left the reusable bags in the car.
Morale is fragile.
Inside the store, the first part goes reasonably well. Several planned items are found. A package of crispbread, fruit, and laundry detergent. The last item turns out to be cheap only for customers who loaded a special offer into the app before midnight the previous day.
The app is opened. The password has been forgotten. A reset is requested. The message does not arrive. After three attempts, a decision is made to buy the detergent anyway because otherwise all the work so far will feel wasted.
This is the kind of decision the enemy counts on.
Aisles are passed. Hunger grows. Every picture of food develops a strange magnetic pull. A can of pea soup suddenly looks like a banquet. Rotisserie chicken perfumes the entire department. A loaf of freshly baked bread pursues the troops with its aroma.
"We can make something quick when we get home."
"When are we getting home?"
No one answers.
The slowdown begins near the prepared food, and at the buffet the unit comes to a complete stop.
There it stands: hot, ready, and immediately available. Meatballs, chicken, potato casserole, salad, and something covered in sauce that no one can identify but that looks delicious in the light of hunger.
Expensive? Well, maybe.
Good? Probably.
Have the troops fought for hours to save a little money? Yes.
Do they not therefore deserve something? Yes, according to a unanimous decision reached without debate.
The disagreements vanish. A touching unity takes their place. The buffet becomes the table for peace negotiations. The containers are filled with such precision that every inch is used. The potato casserole serves as a retaining wall for the meatballs. The salad is placed on top and later used as evidence that the meal was healthy.
The weight appears on the scale. The amount is higher than expected.
"You have to consider that it saves time."
"Time is money."
The matter is settled. The buffet food is purchased. It saves time, though hardly money. Result at store four: break-even, possibly a loss if the detergent without the app discount is included.
The troops sit on a bench outside the store and eat from cardboard containers with plastic utensils. It is not elegant, but it is efficient. The first bites are consumed in silence. Halfway through the meal, humanity returns.
"This really was necessary."
"Absolutely."
A meatball rolls out of the container and lands on the floor. It is recorded as a loss in the line of duty.
When the food is gone, a new problem appears: fatigue. Hunger was at least an obvious enemy. Fullness works more subtly. It settles over the entire operation like a blanket.
Yet the final battle remains.
The remaining energy must be concentrated on one last showdown. The list is reviewed. Store five has the lowest prices on staples, and several items remain: flour, eggs, frozen fish, a second coffee bargain, and an offer on paper towels.
"We could skip it."
The suggestion is voiced carefully.
"Then we drove the entire route for nothing."
That is not true, of course, but it sounds true. No one wants to end in retreat when the final objective is so close.
On the way back to the car, the troops pass a window displaying kitchen appliances. A blender is forty percent off. The old blender works, but sounds terrible. A brief reconnaissance stop is conducted.
"We are not buying it."
"No, just looking."
Five minutes later, the troops leave without the blender. This counts as a major victory and greatly improves their self-image.
In the car, the time is checked. The operation has lasted four hours and seven minutes. The original plan called for two hours.
"It has gone pretty quickly anyway."
No one objects. The truth would not help anyone.
The engine starts. The final store awaits. The trunk is full, the troops are fed and exhausted, but honor is at stake.
- Quote paper
- J Mattsson (Author), 2026, The Bargain Hunt, Munich, GRIN Verlag, https://www.grin.com/document/1763219
