|
|
|
|
![]() |
Daily Speculations The Web Site of Victor Niederhoffer & Laurel Kenner Dedicated to the scientific method, free markets, deflating ballyhoo, creating value, and laughter; a forum for us to use our meager abilities to make the world of specinvestments a better place. |
Write to us at:
(address is not clickable)
05/25/2004
Eyewitness Account: Dr. Miller
Goes to Wal-Mart.
A quant's qualitative binge. Was it the donuts?
I finished dinner early tonight for a change and when the clock
tripped past eight I remembered a promise that I made to
Michael Buchsbaum. He took issue with my assertion that
inflation was on the rise and that Wal-Mart--Always the Low
Price--would never raise its prices, it only knows how to lower
them. I told Michael that I would do an extraordinary thing and
pay the Walton family a periodic visit. Now was as good a time
as any.
The local Wal-Mart is six miles down NY Route 7 from me in the
neighboring burg of Latham, the strip mall capital of New York
State's capital district. I braced myself for the trip by sliding Lou Reed's "Transformer" in the car's CD
player. The masses know this album for "Walk on the Wild Side"
and possibly even "Vicious," but I skip directly to the third
cut, "Perfect Day"--the right choice for a road known as
"Suicide Seven."
I figure I'll do some research first and visit the new Krispy
Kreme that is around the corner from Wal-Mart. The hot donut
light is on. Is it ever off? Three people are in the store and
no one in the drive-through lane. I drive up and place my
order, three hot ones and a random forth for market testing
purposes, politely turning down the young female voice's offer
of something special for $9.99. The donuts are ready
immediately and I curse myself for not asking for a receipt in
case I need it for a future class action lawsuit. I've got my
American Statistical Association thermal mug filled with ice
water, so I take my score around the corner and scarf down the
donuts in the Wal-Mart parking lot while getting the lay of the
land.
The Home Depot sign across the lot has its second "E" dim.
Wasn't Six Sigma supposed to prevent this sort of thing? I look
for something to write on and it's a choice between Subway napkins and the Krispy Kreme donut box. The napkins rip
too easily, so I choose the box. Memo to myself: "Short HD."
Next to me is an old, black Lincoln Town Car with a literal
ragtop. The hood looks like the car in those old infomercials
where the Brit set the lighter fluid on the hood aflame only
this car didn't get the special wax job. I watch the "patrons"
(or whatever Wal-Mart calls their customers) coming and going
from their cars. I'm not going to blend well with this crowd.
I'm not wearing shorts, my clothes aren't from Wal-Mart, and I
haven't watched enough television to get the properly glazed
expression. My blood-sugar spike will have to do.
I walk the twenty yards or so to the main entrance, taking the
donut box with me so that I can take thorough notes. The
greeter asks me, "Is that a return?" I reply, "No, it's a box"
and continue walking into the store. Having spent over a year
of my life inside the mind of a professional gambler in order
to write a novel from his point of view, I immediately
notice that dark black glass hemispheres almost cover the
ceiling of the store. I figure that their training manual does
not tell them what to do about customers who wander
around the store and write copious notes into a donut box.
Instinctively (I have been in this store before), I head
directly to the electronics section and cast a glance at the
Father's Day section as I pass it. I do not expect my children
to present me with a plastic loving cup that says, "#1 Redneck
Dad."
There is lots of cheap stuff in the electronics section, but
one item in particular stands out from the rest. It's a round
portable CD player with a brand I never hear of selling for
$12.84. It's from China, of course. Why that's cheaper that
most CD's, even the ones that Wal-Mart sells. Other
items--telephones, boomboxes, etc.--also have low-ball
items with the same brand. Slave labor, I think.
I figure that I really have to buy something so I go over to
the paper products section and buy a three-pack of Kleenex.
It's three bucks and change and I pay $2.99 at Target. I'm
not impressed, especially for a place that needs maintenance
badly.
I go by the magazine rack and find nothing of interest. The
invasion of Maxim and its ilk has not arrived here though oddly
the November 2003 issue of Esquire with Britney Spears
quasi-nude on the cover is alone in a rack away from the other
magazines. Have the puritan magazines cast it out from their
midst? Is Britney Spears playing the role of Hester
Prynne? Has it been sitting there for over half a year? This is
more than a little scary, so I figure that it's time to leave.
On the way to the checkout, I look in the OTC drug section for
the primo antihistamine: Chlor-Trimeton in the 12mg
candy-coated tablet. No luck. Then it strikes me that the
store is arranged all wrong. It should be organized by
condition or state of mind. I could use a "Sneezy" section. My
store would have a "Horny" section, too.
All three checkout lines were long and none of the express
lines were open. I was bombarded with candy and was glad that
the aftereffects of the Krispy Kreme glucose infusion made for
excellent aversion therapy. I was also able to resist a
SpongeBob sponge for $1.34. There's only room in this ironic
universe for one of us. The lady in front of me
was getting grief because the Waltons had initiated a vendetta
against her particular piece of plastic. I paid and left. No
one asked to look inside the Krispy Kreme box.
I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few items on my way
home. It was a Hannaford on the far end of the big-box mall
from Wal-Mart. It was immaculately clean and
well-lighted with no black hemispheres. I was through the
express lane in an instant.
I'm done turning my donut box into a story. Maybe once the
pollen subsides I'll go back to Wal-Mart. Then, I'll really be
able to smell it. On second thought, maybe I won't.
[Webmeistress's note: Hannaford is a brand name of the Brussels-based Delhaize Group, but neither we nor Dr. Miller have any investment advice about the company on our donut boxes.]