At some point in recent retail history, receipts stopped being receipts and became… documentation. Scrolls. Historical records. Artifacts meant to be preserved in museums so future generations can study the purchasing habits of people who just wanted toothpaste.
I’m not sure when it happened, but every store has collectively decided that buying one item requires a receipt the length of a toddler.
You go in for gum. You come out with a novella.
Every time a cashier hands me a receipt, it feels like they’re presenting a diploma. A folded, ceremonious parchment documenting my journey through the impulse-buy gauntlet. I’m half-expecting them to shake my hand and say, “Congratulations on your purchase. You’ll find the epilogue on page six.”
And the content? UNHINGED.
It’s:
your items
your savings
your loyalty points
your potential loyalty points
five coupons you didn’t ask for
a survey for a chance to win $500 if you answer 92 multiple choice questions
a QR code
a reminder to follow them on Instagram
AND some sort of “Thank you for supporting our community values” mission statement you absolutely did not read
All for a $6 body wash.
Also, why are receipts printed on paper so thermally sensitive they start to fade before I reach the parking lot? The ink disappears faster than my patience. You could time-lapse a Walgreens receipt and watch it vanish like a ghost. In three hours it’s just a blank, suspiciously long strip of paper that may or may not have any legal significance.
And let’s talk about the coupons.
I love that stores believe I will return within eight days to use a coupon for 40¢ off mayonnaise, batteries, or cat litter. The optimism is cute. Misguided, but cute.
The worst part— I KEEP the receipts.
Why? Because at some point, we were conditioned to believe that throwing away a receipt is an act of tax evasion. We hoard them in wallets, purses, glove compartments, and junk drawers.
“Just in case someone asks about that $1.79 banana purchase.” Spoiler alert- No one is asking. But I am prepared.
And then there’s the self-checkout receipt, which prints automatically whether you want it or not. You bag your items, turn to walk away, and the machine shrieks, “TAKE YOUR RECEIPT.” The tone is hostile. That machine has unresolved issues.
Honestly, I’m not anti-receipt. I’m anti “receipt that could double as a festive holiday banner.”
I’m just asking — politely, minus the rage — why, in the year we live in, we’re still printing receipts long enough to lasso a medium-sized farm animal.
At this point, I don’t need a receipt. I need a backpack, a reading light, and a quiet place to process what I’ve just committed to.
Sarah Says Things is a space for noticing the small, strange, occasionally unhinged moments of everyday life—and saying the quiet parts out loud. Written by Sarah DeMaranville, the column isn’t about having answers so much as asking the questions we’re all already thinking, usually while standing in a long line somewhere. The goal is simple: to offer a familiar nod, a shared laugh, and the reminder that if something feels absurd to you, you’re probably not alone.