We went this past weekend to buy a fire pit for our backyard. After browsing online through Amazon to get an idea of pricing and styles, we thought it might be nice to see a few in real life. So we went to Lowe’s where we found a decent one, albeit one we hadn’t previously looked at. It was in our price range. And after looking over their stock we told one of their workers that we’d like to purchase it. He told us he’d need a hand to get it down since they were stored on the top shelf.

The fire pit we’d chosen fit the style of our backyard, had a granite table for drinks around the flame, and looked to produce adequate heat. Everything we were looking for. Still, I felt the uncomfortable touch of rushing to a decision begin to manifest inside of my chest. I didn’t like making a choice with a salesperson next to me, even though I liked the pit. I felt as if I didn’t have time to truly decide on my own.

I fought this feeling away as we waited. Looking around at the other nice and unnecessary things I didn’t need for my backyard. String lights. Heaters. Fans. Fountains. Eventually we took a seat in one of the outdoor display couches and waited for the worker to return with his help. All around us the heavy flow of consumerism swirled about like a strong rip current ready to pull me away. I was in no danger of falling victim to it as I’d already strategically bitten the apple, really I was just being mindful of the moment. Watching all the other shoppers with their carts stacked perilously high with all sorts of goods. I knew that soon I would join them as I pushed a cart with a luxurious fire pit on it.

This space that the store associate gave us while we waited for his return, allowed my doubt over the purchase to fester. It seems as though every purchase of a good I’ve ever made in my life involving sums larger than $200 dollars always give me a bit of early and unwarranted buyers regret. Even if I come to love the item, such as the top of the line TV I’d purchased nearly 8 years ago or the outdoor dining table and bikes I bought last month, and especially so for my awesome Pioneer 5.1 surround sound system that’s still kicking since my purchase in 2003.

Not that I ever really over consumed on goods. Our couches are second hand bought from my sister in law. The new dining room table we did eventually buy was from Ikea—and took 5 years of having an empty dining room in our home. We only have one television in the house, in our living room. My weakness has always been high priced sporting events, plane tickets, and eating out; other than that, I like to avoid impulse purchases.

Yet, the longer we waited the more I felt certain that I wanted to look around at a few other stores and not buy the first nice fire pit I saw. Even if it was perfect. I’d sleep better at night that way. The moment I let the first syllable of discontent spill from my lips, Mrs. Disengaged said she knew what I was going to say. She questioned my urge to shop around some more if this was the pit we both liked.

It just didn’t feel right anymore.

Doubly so, since this man was taking near twenty minutes to return with his help. I felt less inclined to spend my money at a store that didn’t seem willing to help me spend it. Could this be a sign? This pause. This delay in indulging on luxury purchases.

So we left.

We went to another nearby store to see an even worse inventory and display of fire pits. Ah, union busting Amazon, this is why I still use your services despite my ill feelings on your practices. It’s just too convenient to buy exactly what you want, read reviews on it, and have it delivered in a few days time. Too convenient. The slight resistance I felt at Lowe’s was enough to sniff out my already self conscious consumer itch and ended up costing that company a molecule of a drop in their revenue bucket. This is the advantage that e-commerce has over their brick and mortar competitors, the only resistance to buying something online is the finger pressure needed to click or push on buy. And no lines. No people to deal with. Did I mention no lines?

My wife can get justifiably irritated by my easy change of heart when it comes to waiting around to pay money for something. If I put myself in her shoes I can see that yeah, okay, maybe we went through a big ol’ hassle of going to the store, looking around, asking for help…and all for nothing because of my impatience. We did both like the fire pit.

Was it really time wasted? Am I now…a consumer snob, unable to–God forbid–go to the store and buy things in person like the way its been done for centuries? I mean, I am technically a millennial, born in ’83, maybe its in my generational nature to complain about a 15 minute wait and having to settle on what’s only in stock. What’s next? Avocado toast and a crypto?

Okay, I kid about the avocado. I love that fruit. But not about the tulip like cryptocurrency fad.

That evening, after I returned home and was relaxing in my backyard browsing Amazon…again. I started to think about the true hassle it was going to Lowe’s and later on Home Depot. Consuming gasoline for the drive. Consuming my time looking for a store associate to help me, and then even more time waiting for him to return. 20 minutes we loitered in the patio furniture area and he never showed back up. I looked at the register lines on the way out and they were all ridiculously long. Yeah, social distancing has a way of making lines look longer than they actually are, but they were still 15 minute affairs in their own right.

Lines are my kryptonite. I’ll crumble over and fall if I have to wait in a long enough line. Not all lines are bad, so I shouldn’t stereotype here. I don’t mind a line if there’s fine food involved. But that’s about it.

I remember reading some years ago a fantastic article about waiting 72 hours to purchase something on the Frugalwoods blog. Not that it was the case here. The fire pit is more like a 72 month wait item for our family. Nothing near impulse. Even still, the space I received waiting around for help was enough to make me second guess my decision. So I bailed. And this is pretty much the story of my consumer life. Which is why other than a mortgage, we have only about $4K in low interest debt (wife’s old student loan) and that’s it. I can distinctly remember waiting in line to pay nearly $6K for new hardwood flooring in that exact store before taking flight. A few minutes in line gave me the space I needed to buy bamboo flooring for a third of the price. (And the bamboo has held up fantastic with two kids and a dog. No scratches.)

This is not to say I’ve always made smart money decisions, quite the contrary. I just have an embedded urge not to buy unnecessary goods unless I’ve thought long and hard about it, and don’t have to queue up. Not to mention it helps us live our high savings rate lifestyle.

It will probably be a few more weeks till we finally get the fire pit. We have a big camping trip planned to celebrate my youngest daughter S’s birthday. She’s turning 4. Another frugal decision rather than heading off to Disneyland or Mexico, which had been a topic for a few months now. This time it was Mrs. Disengaged who came to the rightful decision to save money on a flight and accommodations and do what we love. Camp, fish, and hike in the mountains.

We’ll likely be heading to the eastern Sierra, the Mammoth Lakes region. Which if you check out the images of the place, doesn’t seem at all like a bad trade off from paying hundreds of dollars to wait for hours in lines at Disneyland. One of the great annoyances of my life is waiting in lines, be it on a freeway 3 hours a day or in a home improvement store for twenty minutes. If I’m paying money for a luxury item, it better be a fast process, like ripping off a bandage. The more time a store gives me to think it over, the more I’ll likely decide that the money is better served in my brokerage account buying time back. The thought of paying extravagant sums of money just to wait in line, or worse yet, waiting in line to give my hard earned money away, will keep me a hesitant consumer for the near future. Maybe forever, if I’m lucky.

In other words, frugality can indeed be induced. In my case, its impatience that’ll bring it out, and this impatient induced frugality is a welcomed hindrance.

Do you still physically shop at stores? If you do, is there any benefit you see from it other than getting out of the house? Do lines bother you like they bother me or am I just a pampered millennial?