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In a time of shortage of toilet paper and outdoor supermarket lines, this age loose for everyone, now on Netflix, feels strangely rewarding.
By Ali Trachta
It’s an absolutely different time in life when there’s very, very little to do.
I was at school in the early part of the ’90s: the age of demon sticks, hair bandages, Delia’s catalog, and my burning preference for remodeling me in Angela Chase. While you may have reached high school in a completely different era, every tween years have some things in common: you’re too young to drive, too young to have a genuine task, and a little too old for cartoons.
This meant that some long summer days, with nowhere to go, I nailed myself on the couch, as many of us are this summer in the middle of an annoying Covid peak.
When you’re a kid, there’s something interestingly exciting about watching TV during the summer. You feel like you’re hunting behind the curtain in all kinds of treats that you can’t regularly see when you’re locked up at school. So, even what some might consider to be the toughest exhibits suddenly turns out to be a real pleasure, which would possibly explain precisely why I fell in love with “Family Feud,” “The Price Is Right,” “Classic Concentration” and The Crown Joya: “Sweep Supermarket.” (Amazon Prime Video recently broadcasts what it calls the “1991 season” and the “2000 season,” and Netflix broadcasts a season broadcast in 1993).
While I enjoyed Plinko’s challenge on “The Price Is Right” and blinked slightly during Fast Money’s trip on “Family Feud,” “Supermarket Sweep” gave me the greatest excitement. It was for a long time the physical maximum of popular TV games, and it was about going crazy in a position that was not meant to do regularly: groceries.
The team of two contestants spent the first part of the screen answering questions posed through David Ruprecht, a guest’s jewel that breathed the waves of Midwestern guys and sported an impressive collection of trendy sweaters, in groceries. The correct answers took time for his “sweep,” which he sent applicants through the aisles, to hit hams, diapers and dog food bags in baskets to “spend” (and then earn) the maximum money.
Obviously I’m not the only strange guy who enjoyed it. Every time the series goes into verbal exchange, and it is, if you communicate to me, the eyes soften. “Supermarket Sweep” premiered in the 1960s, splashed in the 1990s and 2000s and soon reorganized into ABC with Leslie Jones as hostess, reflecting its generational appeal and enduring popularity. The same goes for the sudden accumulation of online articles since Netflix broadcast it, with titles like “Help, I’m watching” Supermarket Sweep “and I can’t stop, please kill me.”
But I’m too satisfied to dive into the old episodes and let the excitement of coming back invade me again. Here are 3 reasons why it will also be swept away.
All test questions covering the first part of the screen are based on popular products from the 80s and 90s (or early 2000s, depending on the viewing season), and evoke jingles and slogans in the most delicious way.
Remember the Slice soda? What about Prell Shampoo? How about “Oh Henry! This is intense! How about lava soap and Budget Gourmet? What about total cereals, which at the time were the solution to smart health? Remember when all the laundry detergents were powdered? Remember margarine?
Some of these things no longer exist, and others have endured. (Total is one thing! Margarine is now called vegetable butter!) But many brands and products of this moment have fallen from our collective consciousness. Being suddenly beaten with them again, I immediately do not forget their old ads, of course, I can still sing the jingles, which all were forced to look up to the nausea before the DVRs became common. Seeing them today gives me that sense of convenience that only the relics of an easier era of my life can evoke.
Who doesn’t have the enthusiasm to come across a store, grab everything they need and look to spend as much cash as possible?
While buying groceries in real life requires diligence (buying grocery lists, budgets, coupons, meal plans), it’s a loose program for everyone. No one wants five bucks in total unless it’s the night before Thanksgiving and has a polygamous circle of relatives to feed, but in the era of hoarding toilet paper and plexiglass shields, seeing the contestants live it in the cheese aisle is rewarding.
Watch some episodes of “Supermarket Sweep” with a spouse or boyfriend, and discover that everyone has very strong reviews about strategy.
Should you or do you deserve not to grind coffee for a $100 bonus? Is time valuable? Should I check to place the 3 pieces on the shopping list? Or do you deserve more effort to lift provolone logs for the duration of your forearm in your basket?
Is it smarter to throw litter at the meat segment or leave the drug aisle blank? Does a team that adds more than $300 in money bonuses to their overall sweep have an unfair and insurmountable advantage? And we want to communicate about it until the early hours of the morning? Turns out it is.
Years ago, I ate bowl after bowl of cereal while getting a mid-morning solution to “Supermarket Sweep.” These days, there’s something smart about seeing you at night, when I can relax with a sparkling wine or two after another long day in this ruthless summer. A dose of “Supermarket Sweep” brings that healthy, undeniable excitement you so desperately need. “
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