The scene of the crime was a Motel 6 in El Paso.
The motel was a stone’s throw from the interstate. Across the highway lay rose a vast desert landscape and a mountain range.
This Motel 6 seemed straight out of central casting for a modern Western movie. Perhaps it would be a place where bandits rested their heads between small-town bank robberies. Or where hired guns staged an ambush to recover a stolen briefcase of drug money.
But the crime in question wasn’t anything that illicit. The crime was simply that I was staying there.
I had chosen this Motel 6 for two reasons. The brand name and the price.
I was heading to El Paso to see my alma mater play a football game. The team rarely played within driving distance of me, and I was excited to go to the game. But I was also making less than $20,000 a year in salary. So, I would need to budget for this trip.
Knowing I would be spending three nights in El Paso, I looked up hotel rates for several bargain chains. This Motel 6 was the cheapest by a good clip, at about $39 per night before taxes. I jumped at the opportunity and booked a room.
It wasn’t until I’d arrived — after a 5-hour drive across the West Texas desert — that I realized what I’d done.
For the bed was a rock, as firm as the carpeted floor in my apartment back home. I turned side to side, trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. But there was none to be found.
And the shower was a house of horrors. There were only two temperature options — ice cold and scalding. I was forced to alternate between them as I frantically tried to wash up each morning.
As the days went on, my frustration grew. There might not have been bed bugs or dirty sheets, but this was clearly the worst hotel I’d stayed in.
The lack of a good night’s sleep or a consistently hot shower left me exhausted. It helped doom my El Paso trip to infamy.
I was frustrated at Motel 6. But mostly, I was mad at myself.
Because I had neglected a cardinal rule: You get what you pay for.
Growing up, I didn’t have to think much about compromise.
My parents prioritized quality over everything else. When it came to the food we ate and the clothes we wore, price was not the first concern.
Don’t get me wrong. We had plenty of nights finishing off leftovers for dinner. And my mother took advantage of those seasonal clothing sales at The Gap. But these occurrences were more the results of our choices than the cause of them.
It was a different story whenever we visited my grandparents, though.
My mother’s parents had grown up in the Great Depression, and they still had emotional scars from those years. So, they had one condition for choosing the food to put in their pantry — rock bottom prices.
If my grandfather made pancakes, we’d top it with the cheapest syrup the grocery store had to offer. Oven-fried chicken would be coated with the lowest-cost bread crumbs. Burgers and meatballs were prepared with the most affordable meat.
I didn’t think much of these spartan food options at the time. I was just a boy, and I was excited to spend time with my grandparents. Plus, they spoiled me rotten everywhere else.
But by high school, I started to recognize the effects.
I was spending a lot of time away from my parents, and starting to make financial decisions on my own. And even though I was a novice, I often gravitated toward the bargain bin.
This seemed prudent at the time. Why would I spend extra on anything, when I could stretch my dollar? Especially at a time where I was relatively low on dollars.
I never gave much thought to what I was giving up in the exchange. At least until those sleepless nights in El Paso.
Our society is obsessed with a good deal.
Sure, we like to splurge every now and then, just to feel special. And some of us immerse ourselves in luxury as a marker of status.
But by and large, we’d prefer to buy something at less than its sticker price.
Bargain shopping makes us feel powerful. It makes us feel as if we’re in control of the buying process. And our attraction to it is profound.
Our love of the deal has helped make Black Friday and Cyber Monday into de-facto holidays. It’s coaxed grocery stores into displaying perennial markdowns. It’s led dozens of retailers to bombard our email inboxes, promising 20% off a purchase with a coupon code.
But beneath our obsession with bargains lies a fallacy. We are attracted to a good deal because we imagine that by paying less, we get more value.
This is simply not true.
For the world of business is built upon simple premises. Revenues must be greater than costs and supply chains must be resilient.
Restaurants can’t provide a steak entrée at the price of a McDonald’s happy meal. Absorbing that cost would run them out of business.
The same goes for just about any other type of company.
Less price means less value. All those sales and deals are simply window dressing.
That value loss might come in the form of cheaper material, a less wholesome cut of meat or an overly firm hotel mattress. Regardless, we can see the signs if we look close enough.
There is no value hidden in the couch cushions. You get what you pay for.
It took me years to recognize the value trap. But that miserable trip to El Paso shattered any illusions.
Now, I purchase with my eyes wide open. I look up the cost of what I want and think about what I can reasonably pay for it. If the two prices don’t line up, I consider what I’m giving up by paying less for a bargain-bin alternative.
Sometimes, I proceed anyway. Other times, I hold off until I can meet the asking price of the more quality item.
None of these tactics are earth-shattering. And yet, there are still many who fail to follow them.
These wayward souls perpetuate the value trap. They go through life blissfully unaware that we get what we pay for. And they open themselves up to the letdown of unrealized expectations.
It’s time for those masses to wake from their idyllic slumber. To see the world for how it really is. And to adjust their habits accordingly.
So, let my experience serve as a cautionary tale. And stop seeking more than you’re willing to give in return.
You get what you pay for. Ante up.