If you’ve shopped at Aldi, the German-based grocery that’s expanding around the U.S., then you know their shopping cart system. You insert a quarter into the cart handle to unlock the chain attached to the next cart. When you return the cart, you can retrieve your quarter.
I love this system. For one thing, it’s efficient. People don’t leave carts strewn around the lot, so the company doesn’t have to hire employees to retrieve them. That’s one reason it can sell a large bag of tortilla chips for under two bucks and a half gallon of organic milk for three.
I also like that I’m part of the club that knows how Aldi works. I keep a quarter in my car for my weekly grocery run, then return it to my side door after placing the week’s bounty in the back seat.
I’ve started experimenting with the quarter system, and I’ve noticed others doing the same. First I decided to try out my charitable impulses. When I went to return my cart, I kept an eye out for people who looked like they needed a cart but lacked a quarter. It seemed like an inexpensive and quiet way to make someone else’s day go just a little easier. I’ve seen too many people wandering through the store with an armful of items. They’re dropping cookie boxes on the floor or breathing hard from carrying too much. By giving them a cart, I can help them avoid that fate.
Sometimes when I’m inserting my quarter, I can see new customers looking confused. As I explain the system, it feels more like we’re a shared community, one in which strangers talk to each other. That is happening less, though, as more people become used to the system. I often have to settle for chatting with people in the check-out line.
Next, I began offering people my cart even though they were getting ready to fetch one themselves. It seemed kind of silly to take the time to retrieve the coin when someone was right there about to insert one. I’ve seen an etiquette develop as people who understand Aldi quarters hand me one as I give them my cart. Similarly, I’ve offered people a quarter in exchange for their cart in the parking lot, which saves them the trouble of walking back.
The first time I found a cart with a coin still in it, I felt that burst of excitement one feels after winning the slot machine. A free quarter! The next few times, I looked at the locks to see if anyone else had mistakenly left one, but no luck. Finally, I struck gold again. A quarter left behind! But this time, I decided to leave it for someone else. Now they could be excited.
Today I saw a young woman walking toward the carts as she got out her wallet. She was wearing nice clothes and a well-groomed ponytail. I saw her pull out a coin and get ready to retrieve a cart just as I was approaching to return mine.
“Would you like a cart?” I asked.
“That would be great,” she said, taking the cart with my quarter still in the handle and putting her own back in her purse.
Dang, I thought. I bet she gets guys to buy her drinks too.
Why, I wondered later, did I not simply request the quarter that she had at the ready? Had she intentionally tried to game the system, or was she not thinking about the chain effect that our actions have on each other? I left in a huff, sad that my quarter was irretrievably making its way around the store, her pampered hands beside it.
Perhaps I’m not merely shopping but am taking part in a grand sociology experiment. A quarter either way, lost or gained, is not going to have a financial impact. Yet that quarter has become a litmus test for what kind of people we aspire to be.
I know it’s just a quarter. But it’s also an expression of so much more.
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