SHORT-SIGHTED AMERICA


 

“You get what you pay for”: surely we are all well aware of the truth of that adage. And yet, in recent decades, short-sighted Americans will do anything for a bargain, as if unaware that a so-called “bargain” is anything but.

A few years ago, I finally found cheerful, pretty, pastel, old-fashioned metal lawn furniture, like my grandparents had had when I was a child. I delightedly bought a set. Now, relatively few years later, my husband and I are already trying to figure out how to salvage the items from the growing rust. My grandparents’ furniture had not rusted so rapidly; in fact it had lasted for decades. My husband explained to me that manufacturers had used better metals in those days. I replied, “So once again, society has taken another giant step backward.” He shrugged, and remarked that people today just wanted what was cheapest. I retorted, “And they’re too dumb to figure out that if they have to keep replacing their possessions, they’ll spend far more in the long run???” He admitted that people today don’t tend to think ahead about that. My reply this time was an unspellable noise.

Not too long ago, my twenty-some-year-old very first VCR at last gave up the ghost. I shuddered to think what piece of junk I’d end up with: something that would chew apart my tapes??? Yes, yes, DVDs are wonderful, but the vast majority of my movies, having been released before the invention of DVD, are on VHS-VCR. And no, I don’t want to replace them, and not just because it’s economically unsound, but also because I’d have to settle for an inferior product. Yes, you read right. Instead of full-screen, in many cases I’d have to settle for letterboxing, and no thank you. I didn’t (in the early 1980s) buy a huge-screen TV just so that I could have one-third to one-half of the screen blanked out in black bands, top and bottom. (Incidentally, that TV has never once needed servicing!) So, nearly quaking, I phoned ahead to one of the top VCR-sellers in the area. The salesman started out on the wrong foot by saying the worst possible thing to me: “Oh yes, we have them on sale for only…!” (I forget the amount). I retorted, “Yes, and at that price, will it be worth carrying home, or should I just save myself the trouble and deposit it in the nearest refuse-container on the way out of the door?” Silence was his dumbfounded reply. So I went on, “Look, I want quality. I want a faithful, multi-year companion that will treat my tapes gently. Would you try to sell a cheap, junky stereo component to an audiophile? Label me a videophile. Please treat me accordingly.” He changed his tune, assured me over and over that he had the right VCR for someone with discriminating taste, like me, and that it could make me happy. Well, I bought it, and now, several years later, so far, so good. If I were superstitious (I’m not), I suppose that I would be crossing fingers and knocking on wood, and other bizarre activities. But while the salesman was able to assure me that this machine will not eat my tapes, he did admit that I can’t expect to get twenty years out of it, like my previous little gem. Typical. I appreciate his honesty, but all of this leaves me disgusted with our short-sighted, throw-away-society.





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