The savings are an illusion and your wallet is fat for the wrong reason. Shopper's cards bearing names like "Reward" and "Preferred" have been forced upon customers by retailers such as Tom Thumb, Kroger and CVS. Ultimately, customers pay the same price while cashiers have another problem to contend with.

"Do you need my card," "do you want my card," I continuously hear from customers. Bitch, I don't want or need anything you've got. However, you may need me to scan your sanctified card in order to avoid getting ripped off too severely.

When supermarket companies instituted loyalty cards at the turn of the century, I was reticent to get one. The notion of scanning a bar code linked to personal information for something as basic as grocery shopping had such a mark of the beast connotation as to vindicate George Orwell's every paranoid fantasy. Goddamn the twenty-first century. Clearly, what corporate had done was jack up sans card prices by some 30 percent and call the existing price "savings." Surely, these cards were produced solely to track customers' shopping habits and worse. On all card applications, I wrote the name "Joe Blow," complete with a fictitious address and phone number.

Loyalty cards also amp up the annoyance factor. The ever patronizing key rattle comes to mind. This subtle request for a facial bludgeoning is executed by holding the loyalty card key ring tag and shaking so as to jingle the attached keys in hopes of alerting the cashier to the presence of another hopelessly worn bar code. I construe such impertinence as a plea to be ignored. Most key tags fail to scan; the bar code having been scratched into oblivion by an array of possibly useless keys and asinine key ring decorations.

Some customers are pressured into a frenzy by these cards. With wide eyes, they rabidly dash in front of the register to proclaim "I have a card!" No shit, you're sticking it in my face. Actually, you may want to retire to the public restroom and ram that special card up your ass, because I've already keyed in a bullshit card number in the hopes that I wouldn't have to hear about your "discount." Perhaps I'll scan it nonetheless so I'll have a chance in front end Hell of not hearing anymore about it and save myself the aggravation of yet another puzzled stare.

Then, there are the logic-impaired skeptics. "Every time I come in here, I really feel like I'm not getting my discount on all this stuff," a woman told me earlier tonight. There was a time when I vainly attempted to explain the deductions to customers as shown on the monitor. An obvious obstacle is that people are jerk-offs who aspire to the intellect of sputum. Another issue is that customers generally don't take a cashier's word for anything. Screw your feelings, madam. Pay up or drag your vapid ass to Tom Thumb.

"Is that before or after the discount?" If you can't tell, then either the alleged savings are irrelevant at best or your too retarded to shop on your own. They are card savings, not discounts.

The customer's phone number may be entered to retrieve their card information. A phone number prefix is often the first thing they blurt out. The problem is that phone numbers may not link to their information. I once keyed in four numbers for one woman--none of which were found by the system. What they don't know is that a card may be applied by keying in random numbers. This is exactly what I do every time a customer rattles off a phone number. Some people are quite surprised when they perceive that their number "works."

"They've got me trained so well," a woman said of habitually handing her card to cashiers. The savings card illusion has been superbly instilled into the unwitting masses. Occasionally, customers who have lost their card balk when I offer to issue them a replacement. With an expression of dubiousness, they ask of their account will be maintained. Entirely too many customers feverishly complete card applications upon being handed a card. I try to tell them that the application is optional.

Last August, I began shopping infrequently at PETsMART, a retailer which has a loyalty card program. A card would not be issued to me until I submitted an application. The application even asked questions about my pet. In a moment of self-indulgence, I entered "Harris" as the pet's name while claiming my name to be "Joe Davenport." Davenport is the cat's name.

For untold millions, loyalty cards have become an integral part of the shopping ritual. Customers flip through a collection of cards to find the right one. Ironically, the best deals are generally found at stores without savings cards.