Learning to practice the preachings from Blink.
He has dark, slicked-back hair that looks like it hasn’t moved in three weeks. The faded tone of his black pants doesn’t match that of his black, button-downed shirt. Neither appear to be wrinkled, yet at the same time, neither appear to be ironed or fit quite right. He’s made eye contact with you and is gliding over from across the department store.
You’re waiting in line at the check-out counter, immobile, arms full of clothes, happy with your selection but uneasy about something. He whisks by you, sets up behind the counter and asks you if you’re all set, in one fast, fluid motion.
You notice that he’s wearing a wedding band and guess that he’s probably pushing 50. The creases on his face say smoker, and where there’s smoke there’s fire: everything inside of you is screaming, “Watch out!”
But, you drown out these warnings and feel yourself pulled by some kind of magnet toward his newly opened register where he scans your items in a blur, sedates you with small talk and finds a way to make his smirk appear to be a smile.
The salesman finishes ringing up the items and congratulates you on taking advantage of so many deals. He says that, yeah, the prices are low, but the value is in the quality of the product. Genius. He complimented your savvy spending habits, corrected the focus of your satisfaction, added value to the transaction and established his own credibility, in one fell swoop.
Now, you’re lame and dazed and limping through the last leg of the purchase. The salesman has you right where he wants you and dives in for the kill.
You have your card on you?
Um, no. I don’t think I have one.
We can check for you. It takes five minutes and you’ll save another 15 percent today.
Are there any fees?
Nothing. Clean. No charges. Type in your social and we’ll check.
Alright.
The voice in your head is whispering that giving out your social security number shouldn’t be done so frivolously, but he quells that fear by showing you that he doesn’t see any of the numbers and they only show as X’s on his screen.
You’re still uneasy, but now you just want this to be over. He assures you there is no risk, that you can cancel the card anytime and as long as there is no balance, there won’t be a fee. Smoke, mirrors, flashing lights, shiny objects. Next thing you know you have applied for and been approved for a new American Express card, when you thought you were signing up for a store membership club card.
You’ve been sold and it tastes rotten.
What’s worse is that your poor decision wasn’t out of stupidity or confusion. It was ignorance. You didn’t know that you were signing up for a credit card, but you did know that something wasn’t right. Your adaptive unconscious was throwing up red flags every step of the way: the immediate feeling of distrust; the shyster profile; the social security number unease; the confusion; the scent of an impulse transaction at the point-of-purchase.
You are much smarter than you think. You knew better, and should have listened to yourself, but more importantly, to your gut.
I recently read the book “Blink” by Malcolm Gladwell and was captivated by the studies, stories and examples that speak on “The Power of Thinking Without Thinking.” No more than a week after I finished the book, with the values of “Blink” still fresh in my head, did I experience the story you just read, during a shopping excursion at a department store.
In this story, I was the sucker, and was kicking myself the whole way home for being such an idiot. Even though it’s probably not the end of the world, and my credit score should be alright, it was poor judgement. And, as mad as I am for letting myself get duped, I am even more fascinated by “Blink,” and how the lessons can apply to nearly every aspect of your life. They reveal themselves when you least expect them and stick with you far down the road. All we have to do is listen, and learn.