By ARTHUR VIDRO
What It’s Worth
Standing in line to pay at Family Dollar, I watched a mother-son standoff on purchasing candy. The son looked to be about 12 years old but huge for his age — both in height and girth. He held two chocolate bars, one in each hand, and kept trying to put them on the counter with his mom’s purchases so she would pay for them.
She kept telling him no, he couldn’t have two chocolate bars; however, she’d gladly buy him one, but only if he put back what was in his hands and took a regular sized bar. The kid stubbornly ignored her guidance and kept putting the two bars on the counter. He even whined. To Mom’s credit, she kept repeating he could have only one, and only if it was normal sized. She doubtless understood the last thing the kid — who easily outweighed her and was at least 25 pounds overweight — needed was to wolf down two big chocolate bars.
The kid understood about settling for one; he just wanted to wrangle two if he could. When he realized she was adamant, he put back one bar. But good old mom still refused to pay, saying he had to select a regular sized bar.
On this point the lad was honestly confused.
But I understood where the mother was coming from.
In the early 1980s, I noticed for the first time chocolate bars labeled King Size. I was away at college, and the items had entered a vending machine in the dormitory. One of my suite-mates received such a chocolate bar for his birthday. He offered to share it with the rest of us. It was split up about four ways. To us back then, that’s what the extra size represented — more chocolate so more than one mouth could be fed.
Fast-forward to today, about 35 years later, and “King Size” bars are still being sold but without the “King Size” label, and a generation of children have come to regard it as the normal size for candy. Which is partially why so many folks, including the chubby lad at Family Dollar, are woefully overweight.
When I got to the Family Dollar counter, I studied the display. There in easy arm’s reach were the extra-large chocolate bars. There on the lowest shelves, at ankle level — out of reach to people unwilling to stoop — were the smaller bars, the ones considered regular sized back in my days.
The overweight kid had understandably looked at the chocolate bars right in front of him, not the ones at his feet. It’s possible all he knew was oversize chocolate bars and oversize portions. It’s a good bet he wasn’t going to share his candy bar with a few friends; to him, even two chocolate bars was a serving for one.
It’s not only chocolate bars (and the people eating them) that have grown in size.
Why have portion sizes increased? My theory is that the rampant inflation of the late 1970s/early 1980s required so much jacking up of prices that manufacturers and vendors felt pressured to increase the quantity of the cheaper goods so consumers would feel they were still getting value. So chocolate bars got bigger. Comic books for a time got thicker. Fast-food restaurants began offering larger-size variations as they raised prices across the board. The soda and popcorn containers at cinemas increased in size as prices were raised across the board. At Dunkin’ Donuts, the small cup of 30 years ago can no longer be found; the large cup of 30 years ago is, more or less, the small cup of today.
When I was growing up, the normal serving for an ice-cream cone was one scoop. If you wanted extra, you would order a double-scoop or even a triple-scoop. But somehow things changed. I discovered this around 15 years ago at a chain take-out ice-cream store called Carvel. I approached the counter and requested a scoop of vanilla ice cream. The young fellow who was working by himself and wielding the ice-cream scoop paused in confusion.
“You mean you want a small?”
I sighed. “How much ice cream is in a small?”
“Two scoops.”
“No, that’s not what I want. I want one scoop.”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe if the boss was here …”
“Look,” I explained. “I’m not trying to chisel the store. I’m willing to pay the posted price for a small. I’m only asking that you give me one scoop instead of two.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never done that before. Don’t want to get into trouble …”
In the end, I walked out without having made a purchase.
The point is, the standard serving had gone up over the years, to two scoops from one.
It’s okay to ask for a smaller amount than what’s being offered. If the shop owner is present, or the employees are allowed to think for themselves and make independent decisions, you’ll usually get it.
And if you don’t get it, just politely walk out.
TIP: Buy the smallest size for take-out food and drinks and desserts. It may not be the best value, but — unless you plan on sharing — it’s more than enough.
We’re not doing ourselves any favors by ingesting larger amounts.
If you have consumerism questions, send them to Arthur Vidro care of this newspaper, which publishes his column every weekend.
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